BY 


WAS  singing  a  low  sad  dirge, 

For  the  world  that  around  me  lay 
^    With  its  waves  of  sorrow,  surgeon  surge 

Breaking  by  night  and  day  : 
When  a  Presence  by  mine  ear 

Broke  the  sadness  of  my  song, 
Saying,  "  Sing  again  a  tune  of  t^heer 
For  a  world  that  shall  know  no  wrong." 


WEST  POLAND,    MAINE 

PUBLISHED  BY  THE  AUTHOR 

1891 


Copyright,  1861 

BY 
J.  ALBERT  L1BBY. 


CONTENTS. 

History  and  Hope 7 

The  Fishers 15 

The  Same  Jesus 17 

The  Burden  Lifter 18 

All  of  Him 20 

Voices  of  Life 20 

Contentment  is  Happiness 28 

"  We'er  all  at  Hame  " 31 

The  Old  Door  Sill 33 

Paths 35 

The  Beautiful  Hand 36 

Old  Brother  Steadfast 38 

So  Many  Things 50 

Do 51 

Build  Well 52 

Zeal 53 

Be  Yourself 54 

True  Greatness 55 

Ye  May  Do  Gocd 56 

How  Will  it  Be 57 

The  Wealth  of  Years 58 

Forethought 59 

Earth's  Emptiness 60 

Out  of  Tune 61 

He  Knows  the  Rest 63 

The  Country  Preacher 64 

A  Blissful  Vision 66 

Hope's  Vision 72 

"  I  Say  Unto  all,  Watch  " 73 

The  Watcher 74 

Just  Before 76 

Near  Home's  Gate 77 

Homesick 78 

The  "  Better  Country  " 79 

Time's  Way 81 

At  First— At  Last 82 

The  End  of  Years 83 

The  Boat  Adrift 84 

Gone 87 

Grief 88 

Bennie  D .- 90 

Contrasts 91 

March 92 

3 


M191981 


4  CONTENTS 

Summer  Time 93 

June 93 

Dying  Summer 94 

"Why  Summer  Goes  Away 95 

Late  November 95 

Winter 96 

Lone  Pine 97 

Life's  Seasons 99 

The  Leaf 100 

Hills,  Vales,  and  Lakes 102 

Flattered,  and  Fooled 105 

The  Suare 107 

You  Will  For  Me 109 

The  Road  to  Ruin 109 

George  Harvey Ill 

The  Talking  Frogs 112 

Home  Thrusts 113 

The  Tearful  Waif 114 

Abraham  Lincoln 116 

Gough 117 

Garfield 118 

Longfellow 119 

Two  Sonnets 120 

John  Holden 121 

Our  Years 124 

Fast  Asleep 126 

At  Twenty-One 126 

The  Broken  Nest 128 

The  Knitting  Work 129 

Life's  Uncertainty 130 

Gone  Before 131 

The  Unanswered  Knock 132 

Morning 133 

The  Broken  Roof 134 

Victory 136 

The  Two  Travellers 136 

Hearing  of  Pardon 137 

In  Time  of  Need 139 

Sometime,  Somewhere 139 

The  Eternal  Protection .  .140 

The  Angels  Near  Us 141 

If  Faith  and  Hope  Were  Dead 142 

Grace 144 

Spaces 146 

Dust  on  My  Glasses 146 


CONTENTS  5 

Life's  Common  Ways 148 

If  He  Would  Come 149 

Another  Day 151 

The  Age  to  Come 152 

What  Has  Been,  May  be  Again 153 

An  Endless  Summer  Time 154 

All  Things  New 155 

Not  Yet 156 

Questions 158 

Nothing  Immortal  Uuder  These  Skies 160 

Life's  Value 161 

The  Life  Will  Tell 162 

Seeking  For  a  Man 163 

Our  Busy  Devil 165 

Your  Mission 166 

How  to  Teach 168 

Genesis 170 

Earth's  Gloomiest  Day 171 

Wayward  Peter 173 

For  Our  Profit 174 

Heavenly  Pastures 176 

I  Know  My  Sheep 178 

The  Returning  King 179 

A  Glance  Prophetic 180 

Lift  Up  Your  Heads 182 

Musings 183 

Restitution 184 

Time's  Evening  Hours 185 

Transitives 186 

At  Last  at  Home 188 

King  Death 190 

Resorgemus 191 

Death's  Victor 192 

"They  Shall  Hear  His  Voice  " liw 

A  S  mile 195 

So  Much 196 

Above  All 197 

Lines  For  My  Mary  198 

"I  am  Going,  Rain  or  Shine" 199 

Early  Gone 200 

"O,  For  a  Well  Tuned  Harp  " 201 

A  Lesson 202 

Smiles 203 

Our  Mother 204 

Eyes 206 

Pondy  Poland 207 

Poland  Spring 207 

Ink  Drops 209—217 


•  f\  • 

•  u  • 


To  the  loving  remembrance  of  my  dear  ones  gone,  who 
wait  with  me,  reunion  beyond  the  resurrection — To  my 
wife  and  only  son,  with  whom  my  home  is  made  pleasant — 
To  my  sisters  and  brothers,  once  all  together  in  the  old 
hill-side  house,  but  now  divided — To  my  brethren  im  the 
divine  ministry  of  Him  who  is  our  present,  and  eternal 
Saviour — To  the  many  dear  ones  to  whom  I  myself  have 
ministered  in  the  word — To  all  the  children  who  have,  and 
would  let  me  put  my  arms  about  them,  as  if  they  were  my 
own  ;  yea,  to  all  into  whose  hands  this  book  may  go,  I  ded- 
icate these  songs  of  manyyears. 

J.  ALBERT  LIBBY, 

West  Poland, 

1891.  Maine. 


HISTORY  AND  HOPE. 

'  ER  history's  sea  with  Hope  we  stay  our  souls 

As  anchored  ships  are  held  the  waves  between, 
Waiting  for  brighter  days  that  may  be  seen 
While  present  peril  all  about  them  rolls ; 

The  heavens  are  black,  and  Death  hides  in  the  clouds 
With  threatening  wing  to  drop  upon  them  all — 

Their  crews  have  passed  to  calms  with  tattered  shrouds, 
And  trust  disaster  may  not  soon  befall. 

Here  o'er  this  waste  of  earth's  eventful  years 

Our  fathers,  and  ourselves  have  hither  come  ; 

Battled  by  storms,  and  driven  from  reaching  home, 
Though  we  have  looked  that  way  so  oft  through  tears ; 

The  past  returns  to  present  strife  meanwhile, 
With  long  lost  pleasures  of  our  sunny  days 

When  faces  touched  each  other  through  a  smile, 
And  hearts  were  thrilled  with  love  in  dear  old  ways. 


8  POEMS 

Play-grounds  grow  green  again  in  memory's  view — 
Paths  flash  to  sight,  well  worn  by  flying  feet, 
And  playmates  come  we  cannot  reallj  meet — 

With  rocks,  and  brooks,  and  trees  that  once  we  knew. 
Our  little  days  of  time,  we  own  how  strange — 

How  strange  the  different  years  we  reckon  o'er ; 
Some  dark  as  night,  with  slow,  or  sudden  change 

When  shadows  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  door. 

Faces  that  hang  in  frames,  our  rooms  around, 

Or  old,  or  young  bring  pain  and  gladness  too  ; 

How  thin  the  shapes  past  light  hath  left  in  view 
Of  those  we  loved  who  went  beneath  the  ground ; 

The  wrinkled  pictures  bear  the  history  lines 
Of  toil,  and  care,  our  parents  have  gone  through; 

We  trace  them  over  with  reflective  minds, 
And  say,  your  paths  meandering  we  pursue. 

So  brows  are  smooth  behind  the  mocking  glass, 
And  eyes  with  youthful  fire  still  all  aglow — 
What  hopes,  what  loves,  whit  joys  were  smitten  low 

We  muse  with  long  slow  thoughts,  alas,  alas  ! 
Into  our  lives  their  lives  were  woven  strong, 

The  old  and  young,  and  while  we  live  will  stay — 
Their  words  are  in  our  ears,  and  on  our  tongue — 

For  love  and  memory  hold  them  all  the  way. 

So  hath  it  been  with  others  as  with  us 

Since  the  first  Two  beheld  a  young,  new  world, 
When  sin  apart  from  God  His  children  hurled, 

And  marred  creation's  beauty  with  the  curse. 


HISTORY  AND   HOPE 

The  winds  of  Eden  have  borne  far  the  wail 
Of  man's  mistake,  and  sorrow  for  the  same, 

While  added  cries  have  loaded  every  gale 
For  ruin  wrought  on  what  was  not  to  blame. 

Poor  Earth  !    Age-struck  and  saddened, 

Six  thousand  years  away 
From  that  bright  morn  which  gladdened 

With  joy  thy  natal  day ; 
I  now  for  thee  remember, 
How  quickly  thy  December — 

Because  of  evil  maddened, — 
Blighted  thy  blooms  of  May. 

Alas  !   beneath  thy  bowers, 

Unkept  by  echoing  glade, 
Red-life  despoiled  thy  flowers, 

And  grief  her  wailings  made ; 
Whereby  thy  breast  was  torn 
For  him  the  Two  did  mourn ; 

Bereavement  brought  her  hours — 
And  they,  alas  !  have  stayed. 

Ah  !  since  thy  sad  disaster, 

What  worrying  ills  have  come  ! 

Each  striving  to  be  master 
In  hurrying  on  thy  doom. 

All  elements  awaking 

Above,  and  in  their  shaking 
Increasing,  seem  the  faster 

To  fit  thee  for  thy  tomb. 


10  POEMS 

Thy  heavens  above  !   what  aileth  ? 

Ten  thousand  voices  cry. 
For  fear  each  bosom  faileth, 

Why  dash  the  seas  so  high  ? 
Plagues,  wars,  their  desolation 
Bestrew  through  every  nation — 

Wreck  everything  assaileth ; 
We  know  the  end  is  nigh. 

Go  to  thy  grave  of  burning, 
Earth  !   for  a  little  while — 

God,  who  hath  heard  thy  groaning, 
Hath  for  thy  face  a  smile  ; 

Thy  curse  He  melts  away, 

In  this  all -cleansing  day — 

Here  end  thy  years  of  mourning, 

And  here  shall  end  the  vile. 

Ay  !  and  thy  last  adorning, 
In  fairest  robes,  will  stay — 

Ay  !  and  thy  second  morning 
Will  rise  to  perfect  day  ; 

Christ- Adam  on  the  throne, 

Shall  never  lose  his  own, 

Thy  sod  to  Death  ne'er  turning  : 

Joy  hath  eternal  sway. 

Could  God  in  justice  turn  upon  his  work — 
Could  his  great  mercy  leave  to  death  alone — 
Those  put  in  trial's  way,  and  not  atone, 

Since  a  foul  tempter  too,  abroad  did  lurk, 


HISTORY  AND  HOPE  II 

Could  love  forget  his  children  gone  astray 
And  grant  no  token  that  his  heart  was  warm  ? 

Hark,  voices  many  from  the  past  cry  nay  ! 
And  bows  of  hope  bend  after  every  storm. 

Suffering  from  Heaven  met  suffering  here  below — 

A  sinless  one  came  forth  from  God,  and  died  ; 

And  on  the  cross  where  he  was  crucified 
He  did  forgiveness  plead  and  pardon  show. 

Him,  centuries  before,  the  world  had  known — 
Hope's  brightening  way,  and  Heaven's  evolving  plan 

By  type  from  Abel  onward  to  atone, 
Till  Pilate  cried  for  truth  "Behold  the  Man." 

Sweet  echo  of  a  voice  from  better  lips, 

His  great  Forerunner  did  the  shout  begin, 

"Behold  the  Lamb  of  God  "  who  takes  the  sin 
Of  earth  away,  yet  who  rejects  him,  dips 

His  hands  in  blood  no  water  bath  can  clean ; 
This  is  man's  part  to  own  the  sacrifice 

And  keep  him  ever,  God  and  earth  between — 
So,  pardon  falleth  on  us  from  the  skies. 

But  after  death — after  Christ's  death  as  well, 
A  voice  is  heard  which  long  had  asked  before — 
Who  shall  roll  back  the  stone  that  makes  the  door 

To  shut  the  dead  of  sea  and  earth  in  Hell? 

Heaven  never  leaves  good  travellers  half  way  home  ! 

So,  though  from  cross  to  tomb  the  Christ  they  bore — 
Angels  came  near  to  watch  his  sleeping  room, 

Till  he  should  live  again  to  die  no  more. 


12  POEMS 

I  was  reading  just  now  of  the  morning 

When  the  door  of  Christ's  tomb  stood  so  fast, 

And  I  saw  in  the  glint  of  the  dawning 
The  forms  of  the  soldiers  go  past — 

While  o'er  the  huge  rock  for  an  awning, 
Thick  vines  their  black  shadows  had  cast. 

I  watched  till  the  hill  tops  were  lighted, 
And  the  valley  was  filling  with  day ; 

All  at  once  the  armed  men  were  affrighted — 
Fell,  rose,  and  were  hasting  away ; 

And  I  saw  what  with  fear  they  had  sighted 
Was  an  angel  in  awful  array ; 

He  stood  midst  a  halo  of  splendor — 

Through  the  shadows  his  countenance  shone, 

And  with  hands  full  of  strength,  yet  so  tender, 
He  whirled  back  the  sepulchre  stone — 

His  errand  such  service  to  render, 
And  he  stood  there  no  longer  alone. 

The  mantle  of  darkness  was  sundered — 
The  sleep  long  prophetic  was  broke, 

And  nature  smiled  gladly,  and  wondered 
With  joy  as  the  Jesus  awoke  j 

For  the  cold  key  of  Death  he  had  plundered, 
And  conquered  the  grave  with  a  stroke. 

Some  women  with  grief  covered  faces 

Were  seeking  the  place  of  the  dead  ) 
Now  closer  with  slow  moving  paces 


HISTORY  AND   HOPE  13 

An  angel  their  inquiry  led — 
Then  spake  as  he  showed  Death's  last  traces — 
"  He  is  risen  again  as  he  said." 

Time's  bright  beginnings  float  the  far  ages  through 
On  history's  page  as  Heaven  to  earth  has  told 
Of  the  first  days  when  orbs  like  minted  gold 

Were  sent  to  shine  in  spaces  clear  and  blue  ; 

When  everything  below — pure,  fair,  and  young — 

Gave  smile  for  smile  to  sun,  and  moon,  and  stars ; 
Aye  !   then  their  brightness  hymns  of  morning  sung, 

And  angel  shouts  chimed  with  the  music  bars. 

This  other  morn,  when  the  black  tomb  was  spoiled 

Brought  the  occasion  for  a  loftier  strain — 

As  great  relief  brings  joy  after  long  pain, 
And  gain  is  reached  for  which  a  soul  has  toiled. 

Suspense  and  silence — fear  and  flickering  hope 
Like  cloudy  sunshine  over  all  had  hung 

So  long,  that  few  for  better  things  looked  up, 
And  oft  on  these  were  disappointments  flung. 

Time's  lessons  were  mused  over  till  they  seemed 

To  aggregate  too  much  for  men  to  bear, 

And  eyes  had  searched  to  see  if  anywhere 
Hope  might  take  heart  that  things  could  be  redeemed  ; 

Now  is  the  garden  found  where  grows  the  balm 
To  heal  the  ugliest  wound  that  Death  can  make ; 

And  from  this  garden  settles  down  a  calm, 
That  coming  storms  of  Earth  nor  Hell  can  shake. 


14  POEMS 

He  walketh  here,  who  had  his  visage  marred—- 
One bruised  with  awful  usage,  yet  we  see 
He  bears  the  pledges  of  great  victory 

Beyond  the  memories  of  a  conflict  hard ; 
Behold  the  chain  he  swingeth  from  his  arm  ! 

His  girdle  holds  the  key  he  seized  below ; 
With  this  he  will  the  gates  of  Hades  storm — 

With  that  at  length  will  bind  man's  cruel  foe. 

Thus,  treasures  lost  are  kept  in  safety  now, 

Because  his  love,  his  hand,  and  purpose  sure — 

Will  find  them  for  us  to  again  restore 
Without  the  touch  of  Death  on  cheek  or  brow ; 

He  only  waits  till  mercy's  day  is  spent — 
Till  rebels  bolder  grow  who  him  despise — 

Then  shall  he  tread  the  path  o'er  which  he  went 
Along  in  glory  the  unfolding  skies. 

Come  thou,  O  Christ,  thine  loyal  urge  their  plea  ! 

O'er  falling  Thrones  of  earth  erect  thy  throne  ; 

Bring  in  as  subjects  of  thy  reign  thine  own, 
So  shall  we  share  the  joy  with  them  and  thee. 

The  Faith  that  owns  that  thou  didst  die,  and  rise ; 
That  thou  didst  pass  to  Heaven  the  very  same, 

Looks  on  thy  promises  with  gladdening  eyes, 
And,  in  their  sweet  fulfilment  holds  a  claim. 


THE  FISHERS. 

ilSHERMEN  seven  from  Galilee  , 

Launch  their  boat  on  the  twilight  sea, 
And  into  the  deep  they  drop  the  net 
Not  forgetting  the  trade  that  let 
Each  of  these  fishers  a  living  get 
Out  of  the  fruitful  sea. 

Seven  disciples  from  Galilee 

Sad  of  heart  in  their  misery, 

Think  for  awhile  their  grief  to  drown 

Getting  away  from  the  lonesome  town, 

With  the  charming  net  they  now  let  down 

Into  the  joyful  sea. 

Simon  Peter  is  here,  the  bold  ! 

And  Thomas  Didymus  calm  and  cold ; 

Nathaniel  of  Cana  in  Galilee, 

As  also  the  sons  of  Zebedee, 

With  other  names  unknown  to  me 

Because  they  are  not  told. 

The  evening  hours  pass  away — 

Back,  and  forth  the  hand-ropes  sway, 

Till  faces  meet  in  strange  surprise 

O'er  an  empty  net  as  each  night  watch  flies, 

And  morning  breaks  from  the  eastern  skies 

Over  the  sea  to  play. 


15 


1 6  POEMS 

All  at  once  a  stranger  stands 

Just  away  on  the  level  sands, 

Hailing  the  ship  with  a  voice  so  sweet — 

To  ask  if  the  net  has  caught  them  meat, 

With  nay  for  an  answer  his  ears  to  greet, 

Resting  their  weary  hands. 

"Throw  it  in  on  the  other  side," 

Sounds  his  voice  o'er  the  shimmering  tide  ! 

Now,  quickly  flung  to  the  chasm  deep 

Along  the  rail  the  thrilled  ones  sweep 

The  net,  while  the  fishes  dart  and  leap, 

And  within  its  meshes  glide. 

"That  is  the  Lord  ! "  said  sweet-souled  John, 

Fixing  his  eyes  the  shore  upon  ; 

When  Peter,  catching  his  fishing  coat, 

Left  the  net,  and  out  of  the  boat 

Threw  himself  like  a  bird  to  float, 

To  meet  the  deserted  one. 

Others  came  on  a  little  ship, 

Happy  in  heart,  though  dumb  of  lip  ; 

Dragging  the  fishes  so  gladly  snared 

To  find  the  food  by  the  Lord  prepared, 

And  learn  how  much  for  his  own  he  cared, 

Though  his   tongue  was  a  loving  whip. 

Then  seven  fishers  up  from  the  sea 

Backward  went  to  their  Galilee  ; 

And  we  learn  of  these  fishers  again,  but  then 

The  new  commission  was,  Catch  me  Men  ! 

And  they  did,  as  we  vrill,  till  our  net  again 

Is  dragged  from  the  world's  great  sea. 


THE  SAME  JESUS. 

BHRIST  is  just  the  same  in  heaven- 
All  my  heart  is  glad  for  this  ; 
jgh  the  holy  angels  throng  him, 
And  their  home  hath  naught  but  bliss — 
Just  the  same  amid  their  wonder, 
And  the  happy  strains  of  joy  ; 
While  the  memory- thoughts  of  ages 
Ever  must  his  soul  employ. 

Thoughts  of  childhood  in  Judei — 

Early  loves  that  with  him  played  ; 
Walks  along  the  hills  and  valleys — 

Pleasant  places  where  he  stayed  ; 
Faces  fond,  and  voices  thrilling — 

Friends  who  leaned  above  his  heart, 
Whom  he  so  well  sought  to  comfort 

When  the  day  drew  near  to  part. 

Thoughts  of  sorrows,  heart-deep  sorrow 

None  had  ever  known  before — 
That,  our  burden — grief  for  all  men, 

On  his  shoulder  he  upbore  ; 
Ties  were  knit  by  years  of  anguish — 

Blood-bought  mortals  nearer  seem — 
Helpless  earth  held  fast  his  pity, 

Given  in  wakeful  hours,  and  dream. 


17 


1 8  POEMS 

Hath  he  now  beyond  the  cloud-gates 

Turned  his  heart  from  time  away? 
Is  Gethsemane  forgotten, 

And  Mount  Calvary's  gloomy  day? 
And  the  garden's  lonely  prison, 

Rock-encircled — made  secure  • 
Doth  he  not  so  long  remember 

How  he  burst  the  heavy  door  ? 

All  the  past,  and  all  the  future, 

As  of  old  he  knew — he  knows  j 
And  the  grand  results  are  measured 

To  be  born  of  all  his  woes ; — 
Glorious  Christ !  On  earth  in  heaven — 

Nought  from  thee  thy  plan  can  sever  ; 
Earth's  and  man's  almighty  Savior, 

Yesterday,  to-day,  forever. 


THE  BURDEN  LIFTER. 

[HERE  shall  I  put  my  burden 

I  have  carried  so  long  and  far  ? 
While  nobody  seems  to  rest  me, 
Though  about  me  the  many  are  ; 

It  lieth  so  hard  within  me 

My  heart  is  crushed  with  the  load  ; 
I  feel  if  I  cannot  loose  it, 

I  shall  die  along  the  road  ; 


THE  BURDEN  LIFTER  19 

But,  a  sweet-faced  woman  told  me 

If  I  would  fall  on  my  knees, 
And  call  on  the  name  of  Jesus 

That  he  would  my  heart  release — 

She  said  it  was  sin  about  me 

That  seemed  so  heavy  and  sad — 
And  I  know  that  she  told  me  truly, 

For  I  had  been  awful  bad  ; 

And  she  tells  me  of  another 

Who  has  come  to  me  unseen, 
'Tis  he  who  convinced  my  conscience 

What  a  sinner  I  have  been, 

And  made  me  feel  this  burden — 

But  I  will  not  keep  it  long, 
For  the  friend  who  whispered  to  me 

Says  he  has  a  shoulder  strong  : 

And  that  he  would  go  right  with  me 

All  my  journey,  and  I  might 
Cast  all  my  burdens  on  him, 

And  myself  go  free,  and  light ; 

Now,  I  am  going  to  do  it, 

As  I  know  'twould  change  my  road — 
And,  here  now,  I  fall  before  him — 

Dear  Lord  Jesus  take  my  load. 


ALL  OF  HIM. 

Sla  COULD  not  say  if  I  should  pass  the  portal 

PP     That  leaves  behind  my  back  the  world's  great  night, 

To  gaze  upon  the  other  home  immortal 

Baptized  with  love  and  light ; 
That  I  have  come  alone  to  these  fair  places — 

That  I  have  searched  them  out,  and  come  alone  ; 
My  wisdom — yea,  and  all  my  native  graces — 

Be  dumb  before  his  throne.  - 

But,  I  would  say  my  Savior's  wisdom  sought  me, 

And  I  would  say,  my  Savior's  love  was  mine  ; 
That  by  his  lips  divinely  touched,  he  taught  me 

The  path  to  life  divine  : 
And,  I  would  say  if  Death  hath  held  me  sleeping, 

I  could  not  lift  my  head  from  out  the  grave  ; 
Still,  all  the  time  I  rested  in  the  keeping 

Of  him  who  came  to  save. 


VOICES  OF  LIFE. 

Read  on  the  Eve.  of  Oct.  25,  1880,  to  a  large  circle  of  Friends, 
met  to  celebrate  the  8Uh,  birthday  of  my  father,  REV. 
JAMES  LIBBY,  of  Poland,  Me. 

years  have  voices  not  their  own, 
Filling  the  air  from  human  lips  ; 
All  varied  in  their  words  and  tone, 

From  the  wee  child  that  lamb-like  skips, 
To  him  who  treads  life's  farthest  verge  alone. 
Listen,  O  friends,  awhile,  if  you  would  hear 
The  echoes  that  come  ringing  on  my  ear, 


VOICES   OF   LIFE  21 

Dropping  in  words,  as  we  may  briefly  scan 

The  changeful  stages  in  the  life  of  man. 

From  babyhood  till  ten,  I  hear  the  wail 

Of  suffering  infancy,  and  then  the  gale 

Of  merry  laughter,  and  uproarous  shout, 

Sounding  from  school-  yard  all  the  streets  about ; 

The  gleeful  scream  as  in  a  hundred  plays, 

With  tireless  feet,  the  urchin  threads  his  ways. 

From  ten,  to  twenty,  faster  bounds  the  blood, 

And  mirth  fulness  hath  reached  in  tide  a  flood  ; 

'Tis  talk,  talk,  talk,  no  matter  where,  or  when, 

Nor,  will  the  laddie  wait  for  older  men. 

Has  anything  occurred,  just  how  he  shows, 

For  he  was  there,  eyes,  ears,  and  mouth,  and  nose ; 

The  largest  fish  has  been  upon  his  hook, 

And  the  most  game  his  trusty  rifle  took  ; 

Bird-snares,  and  traps  are  much  in  vogue  with  him, 

He  knows  where  pigeons  perch,  and  muskrats  swim ; 

The  horse  he  drives  must  travel,  or  the  whip 

Tingles  the  tender  flank  below  the  hip. 

School-days  are  happy  for  the  stirring  boy, 

Since,  out,  or  indoors,  he  will  have  his  joy ; 

Through  all  the  study  hours  his  eye  and  ear 

Are  ape-like  set,  to  catch  him  something  queer. 

One  eye  he  has  for  fun, — mischievous  creature  ! — 

The  other  sentinels  the  moving  teacher  : 

And,  blundering  readers,  calling  colt  a  calf, 

Are  sure  to  hear  all  round  the  tittering  laugh ; 

And,  letters  on  the  slate,  once  in  a  while 

With  pleasure  cross  both  ways,  the  middle  aisle. 


22  POEMS 

So,  through  a  score  of  singular  gyrations, 
He  learns,  and  gets  through  all  his  recitations. 
Twenty  is  reached,  and  he  begins  to  plan, 
To  have  his  coming  future  as  a  man ; 
His  gait  has  settled  to  a  sprightly  walk, 
His  wordy  fun  tones  down  to  common  talk ; 
He  speaks  of  cottages  along  the  street, 
Admires  the  style  of  this  with  grounds  so  neat, 
Wishes  he  had  some  land,  and  wants  a  team, 
Just  so's  to  understand  how  it  might  seem, — 
Is  often  missed  from  home  on  Sunday  eve, 
Now  he  can  go,  and  come,  not  asking  leave. 
Time  passes  on,  his  thrift  the  means  has  sought,—- 
The  land  is  bargained  for,  the  team  is  bought, 
And  bolder  grown,  at  twenty-five  he'll  ride 
With  blushing  beauty  seated  at  his  side. 
And,  now  the  ground  is  broke,  the  cellar  made, 
Workmen  are  called,  each  with  his  different  trade» 
The  cottage  he  for  many  months  has  planned, 
Stands  shining  like  a  gem  upon  his  land. 
With  eager  hands  he  toils,  and  heart  elate ; 
For  earth  is  rich  with  spoils,  and  hope  is  great ; 
As  he  has  prospered,  and  must  prosper  still, 
His  joyous  heart  now  sings,  with  right  good  will. 
Rejoice  young  man  !  these  are  thy  brightest  days ; 
I'll  find  thee,  by  and  by,  in  different  ways. 
There  are  no  sunnier  joys  in  earthly  store, 
Than  when  one  finds  at  first  his  own  home's  door, 
And  lights  his  dwelling  to  look  into  eyes 
That  answer  back  to  his,  with  love's  surprise. 


VOICES  OF  LIFE  23 

How  white  the  cloth  she  spreads,  how  choice  the  food — 

How  sweet  the  song  she  sings,  in  cheerful   mood — 

How  rankly  grow  the  plants  her  hands  attend — 

How  bright  the  flowers  that  far  their  fragrance  send  ! 

Home  has  no  shadow  now — her  smile  the  ray 

That  lights  each  room,  through  the  long  golden  day. 

But,  years  will  fleet,  and  in  a  world  like  this 

We  may  not  hope  for  long  continued  bliss  : 

This  one  bright  home  we  watch,  to  speak  for  all, 

Where  joys  and  griefs  alternate  rise  and  fall. 

Children  are  born,  and  thrive — ah,  what  a  joy  ! 

The  curly  headed  girl,  the  bright  eyed  boy  : 

Parents  alone  know  what  heart  pleasures  wake, 

As  to  their  arms  their  own  sweet  babes  they  take. 

New  voices  ring  around  the  hearth  of  home, 

As  one  by  one  the  beauteous  darlings  come. 

The  cradle  hath  a  music  all  its  own, 

Although  it  runs  in  a  low  monotone. 

The  high  chair  at  the  table  hath  a  guest 

On  which  the  eyes  of  all  around  it  feast  ; 

The  room  is  cluttered,  and  all  things  look  loose  ; 

But  "  baby  did  it,"  and  we  must  excuse. 

O,  beauteous  bush  !  the  midst  with  roses  crowned. 

And  buds  of  promise  opening  all  around. 

But,  we  have  said  that  in  a  world  like  this, 

We  cannot  hope  for  long  continued  bliss  : 

The  spoiler  comes,  and,  with  unpitying  tone, 

Threatens  to  take  one  darling  for  his  own. 

"  What  !  rob  my  household  ;  tear  my  sweet  rose-tree? 

And  bear  a  blushing  bud  away  from  me  ?" — 


24  POEMS 

The  motner  cries  :  then  takes  her  treasure  up, 

Bids  fear  begone,  and  calls  for  cheerful  hope ; 

Smoothes  the  fair  forehead,  smiles  by  turns,  and  grieves,, 

Binds  up  the  feet  and  wrists  with  drawing  leaves  ; 

Bathes  the  hot  temples, — kissing  oft  the  cheek, — 

Chafes  the  round  limbs,  and  calls  for  him  to  speak, 

"Say,  mother's  jewel !  is  you  better  now? 

Take  this  for  mamma, — make  old  sickness  go  !  " 

Darkens  the  room,  hushes  all  playful  feet, 

And  by  the  crib  fixes  her  watching  seat ; 

Whispers  to  father,  as  he  creeps  along, 

"I  think  we'll  save  him ;  see  !  his  pulse  is  strong." 

0,  troubled  household  !  grief  has  come  at  last, — 

The  days  without  a  cloud  are  in  the  past ; 

The  nights  of  unmolested  rest  are  fled, — 

Now  stands  unsought  the  anxious  parents'  bed  : 

And  yet  they  tire  not,  for  love  forgets 

To  eat  or  sleep,  if  watching  suffering  pets  : 

And  so  the  days  go  by,  and  night's  slow  hours, 

As  if  the  foe  to  strong  resistance  cowers ; 

Till,  all  at  once,  while  hope  contends  with  doubt, 

He  from  the  darkness  blows  the  sweet  life  out. 

I  need  not  try  to  picture  with  my  pen 

The  agony  of  the  bereft  ones  then ; 

The  talk  of  mother,  o'er  the  white  dead  face, — 

The  sighs  of  father,  with  each  faltering  pace  ; 

Nor  yet  the  sobs  of  childhood's  heaving  breath,— 

Till  now  but  strangers  to  the  stranger,  Death. 

The  grave  door  swings,  and  shuts,  and  oh,  what  joy 

Goes  into  darkness  with  that  buried  boy  ! — 


VOICES   OF   LIFE 

And  earth  to  them,  so  long  without  a  blot, 
Seems  sadly  marred  by  this  one  burying  spot. 
Sometimes  they  tell  the  mourner,  that,  no  doubt 
A  little  while  will  wear  these  troubles  out ; 
But  he  who  writes  these  lines  for  you  will  say, 
The  wounds  may  heal,  but  yet  the  scars  will  stay  : 
And  they  who  fondly  o'er  their  dead  do  weep 
Will  not  forget  forever  where  they  sleep. 
Well,  but  few  parents  say  at  forty-five, 
"  We  have  no  graves — the  flock  is  all  alive." 
The  KING  OF  TERRORS,  since  the  world's  great  fall 
Hath  fought  the  race  to  make  us  mourners  all ; 
But  "sorrow not  as  those  who  have  no  hope" 
The  preacher  said, — and  this  becomes  a  prop. 
So,  months  go  by,  and  the  old  smile  appears, 
And  crowding  cares  beguile  th*  advancing  years ; 
The  marriage- bells  resound,  and  voices  sweet 
Allure  away  from  home  the  children's  feet ; 
And  other  sadder  farewell  words  are  said, 
As  earth's  green  curtain  swings  o'er  others'  dead  : 
Till  wrinkled  womanhood,  and  failing  man 
Are  left  alone,  as  they  alone  began. 
And  yet,  how  different  life's  pathway  seems — 
At  first  their  future  shone  with  golden  dreams, 
That  each  new  year  would  better  things  unfold 
Than  they  had  shared  in  the  receding  old ; 
But  now  life's  rounded  hill-top  lies  behind, 
The  ears  grow  heavy,  and  the  eyes  get  blind ; 
The  feet  that  strongly  struck  the  sunny  crest, 
Now  feebly  falter  near  the  vale  of  rest. 


26  POEMS 

Come  in  the  evening,  find  them  all  alone ; 

And,  hidden,  listen  to  their  voices'  tone. 

Hear  them  go  back  to  memory' s  earliest  days, 

And  talk  along  through  time's  eventful  ways. 

Now  smiles  enrich  their  faces  ;  then,  anon, 

We  watch  a  moment,  and  the  smiles  are  gone. 

A  change  comes  in  life's  story, — bend  thee  nigh ; 

See  !  tears  are  glistening  in  each  withered  eye ; 

They  speak  of  faces  fair,  and  voices  gay 

That  from  the  family  fold  were  snatched  away ; 

Of  dear  old  neighbors  that  once  left  the  door, 

Saying  "Good  evening." — to  return  no  more. 

And,  then  to  hear  them  sing, — it  soundeth  well, — 

The  hymn  "When  strangers  stand  and  hear  me  tell." 

Or,  changing,  strike  again  so  clear,  and  high, 

The  tune — "  Spare  us,  O  Lord,  aloud  we  cry ;  " 

And  so  we  creep  away,  saying,  at  last, 

"  Dear  aged  ones  !  they  live  along  the  past." 

Yes,  they  do  live  recounting  what  has  been ; 

But,  faith  hath  eyes  to  scan  a  future  scene, 

And  hope  will  follow  faith  with  eager  wings, 

To  knit  love's  tendrils  to  celestial  things. 

And,  so  they  wait  upon  the  mortal  side 

Of  death's  cold  river,  with  its  murky  tide  ; 

Knowing  their  Joshua  will  lift  His  rod 

To  break  a  pathway  through  the  swelling  flood. 

And,  what  if  one  be  left  alone  to  stand 

Trembling  with  age,  and  white-haired  on  the  sand? 

Take  heart  at  this, — the  pilgrimage  once  o'er 

What  joys  await  us  on  the  other  shore  ! 


VOICES  OF  LIFE  27 

What  verdant  trees  shall  grow  on  all  the  hills  ! 
What  sparkling  waters  flow  in  all  the  rills  ! 
What  gladsome  shouts  on  Zion's  mount  shall  ring 
To  David's  greater  Son,  and  Israel's  King  ! 
What  tides  of  health  in  every  vein  shall  flow ; 
For  every  cheek  and  eye  will  be  aglow ! 
What  stores  of  plenty  ! — see  the  fruitage  shine 
On  low  depending  limb,  and  climbing  vine  ! 
What  raptuous  songs  !  no  earthly  choir  hath  known 
The  art  to  reach,  and  touch  the  lowest  tone  ! 
What  bonds  of  friendship  !  never  there  a  jar 
The  union  of  the  saintly  ones  may  mar  ! 
What  more  than  glad  surprises  there  to  find 
Many  on  life's  rough  march  we  left  behind  ! 
O,  resurrection  faces  !  how  they  shine, 
Filled  with  the  lustre  of  a  life  divine  ! 
Yet  through  the  glow,  the  old-time  smile  appears, 
Linking  the  eternal  now  with  earthly  years. 
What  perfect  rest  beyond  time's  tiresome  road  ! 
What  sweet  release  from  every  wearying  load  ! 
What  boundless  riches  ! — every  saint  supplied ; 
What  depths  of  joy,  with  every  tear-drop  dried  ! 
What  wondrous  wealth  of  wisdom  ! — all  shall  know 
And  fear  the  Lord,  the  shining  heavens  below  ! 
What  length  of  golden  days  there  ! — o'er  and  o'er 
The  ransomed  sing,  in  throngs,  "  to  die  no  more  !" 
What  restful  peace  where  no  discordant  sound 
Disturbs  through  all  the  enchanted  world  around  ! 
What  love  where  heart  with  kindred  heart  shall  blend, 
With  every  soul  we  meet  a  constant  friend  ! 


28  POEMS 

What  golden  walks,  what  ever-fragrant  flowers  ! 

What  happy  talks  in  Eden's  shady  bowers  I 

What  streets  of  gold,  what  gates,  what  strengthful  walls  ! 

What  matchless  towers  arise,  what  spacious  halls  1 

What  skies, — all  storm-clouds  swept  away ; 

As  fair  they  shine  as  at  creation's  day  ! 

What  hosts  of  angels  passing  to,  and  fro  ; 

In  easy  gliding  speed,  behold  them  go  ! 

And  all  the  saints,  their  equals,-  move  at  pleasure, 

Having  no  wearying  distance  now  to  measure. 

Glory  to  God  !  through  his  all-conquering  Son 

Death  dies  at  last,  and  Sin's  dark  reign  in  done  ! 

With  so  much  for  us,  why  parade  the  charms 

Of  this  poor  state,  with  all  its  rude  alarms  ? 

Let  us  make  haste,  since  we  so  far  have  come ; 

That  morn  shines  on  us  from  the  hills  of  home. 


CONTENTMENT  IS  HAPPINESS. 

SUGGESTED   BY  AN  EASTERN  FABLE. 

»NCE  on  a  time  a  simple  quarry- man 

Worked  much,  gained  little,  and  was  ill  content 
He  wished  he  might  be  rich,  and  live  at  ease ; 
Enwrapped  in  silken  sheets  his  time  be  spent. 

And  so  it  chanced  his  wish  was  granted  him, 
And  all  encouched  in  softest  silk  he  lay, 

Till  lo  !  an  emperor,  with  a  grand  escort, 

On  prancing  steed,  o'er  shielded  passed  that  way. 


CONTENTMENT  IS  HAPPINESS  29 

What  good  is  riches,  since  I've  no  escort, 
In  van  or  rear,  to  guard  my  dangerous  way ; 

And  none  to  break,  with  golden  parasol, 

From  off  my  head  the  sun's  descending  ray? 

"Why  am  I  not  an  Emperor?  "     And  he  was  : 
His  body-guard  dashed  up  before,  behind, 

They  held  above  his  royal  head  the  shield, 
And  filled  each  wish  of  his  aspiring  mind. 

But  all  around  the  ardent  beams  shot  down ; 

The  road  grew  dusty,  and  the  quivering  light, 
Reflected  from  the  floor  of  burning  sands, 

Mocked,  and  bewildered,  and  fatigued  his  sight, 

"  O,  but  if  one  could  only  be  the  sun, 

To  dash  exhausting  heat  and  light  afar  ! 
There  is  a  power  I  envy."     Have  your  choice, 

If  not  content  with  being  what  you  are. 

And  now  a  sun  afar,  to  right  and  left 

He  flung  his  fiery  beams  in  reckless  mirth, 

To  blind  the  eyes  ©f  princes  with  his  light, 
Or  scorch  the  growing  herbage  of  the  earth. 

But  soon  a  pitying  cloud  flying  between 

Most  haughtily  threw  cooling  shadows  down. 

"  My  power  is  broken,"  cried  the  wrathful  sun, 
"  I  would  I  were  the  cloud  o'er  all  to  frown." 

Again  came  transformation  very  strange  ; 

He  was  a  cloud  and  threw  his  shadows  wide. 
Moreover  showers  fell  fast  o'er  all  the  land, 

And  rivers  rolled  a  devastating  tide. 


30  POEMS 

One  only  thing  the  cloud  looked  down  upon — 
A  grand  old  rock  beside  the  river  stood  : 

In  vain  the  bellowing  waters  beat  its  sides — 
It  moveless  sat  and  laughed  at  storm  and  flood. 

"Superior  thing,"  then  quoth  the  angry  cloud, 
"  I  would  I  might  become  that  mighty  rock," 

The  change  was'  wrought ;  and  soon  grown  proud, 
He  feared  nor  stroke  of  sun^nor  torrent's  shock ; 

But  sadly  saw,  anon,  one  standing  near — 

Though  roughly  clad  yet  with  determined  face — 

His  hands  were  loaded  with  the  hardest  steel, 
To  break  and  hew  at  will  his  firm  set  base. 

"  What ! "  cried  the  rock,  "  O  angel  of  my  change, 
To  rend  me  mighty  doth  this  figure  plan  ?" 

The  same,  the  angel  said.     So  cried  the  rock, 
"Then it  were  better  I  should  be  that  man." 

Have  you  your  will,  again  the  angel  spake, 

O,  ne'er  at  ease  through  many  a  changing  scene  ; 

Be  thou  the  man  the  unconquered  rock  to  break ; 
And  he  became  what  he  at  first  had  been, 

A  poor  stone-cutter — simple  quarry-man — 
His  work  was  hard,  and  but  a  little  brought ; 

Vet  he  had  learned,  through  unsuccessful  change, 
At  last  to  be  contented  with  his  lot. 


"WE'RE  ALL  AT  HAME." 

H|f£  READ  of  a  Scotchman,  old  and  blind — 

A  fifer  once  in  a  Highland-band  j 
Who  crossed  the  ocean  his  son  to  find, 
And  a  home  he  hoped  with  his  bairn  so  kind, 
Somewhere  away  in  the  Western  land. 

His  son  had  died,  and  the  poor  old  man 

A  refuge  found  in  the  friendly-inn  j 
But  memory  hied  to  his  native  clan, 
And  his  "mither's  name"  in  the  Highland  glen, 

And  the  players  with  whom  he  ^nce  had  been. 

He  would  sit  and  talk  through  the  livelong  day 
Of  scenes  unknown  to  the  others  near — 

How  he  longed  to  throw  his  line  in  the  Tay ; 

And  would  name  his  kindred  so  far  away 
Till  the  stoutest  heart  would  break  to  a  tear. 

He  talked  of  his  regiment  one  night 
As  the  shadows  gathered  o'er  him  deep, 

Of  their  going  hame,  and  his  face  did  light, 

To  name  the  tunes  of  their  joyous  flight 
As  he  roused  him  from  his  sleep — 

"  The  Campbells  are  comin',"  and  old  "Roy's  Wife  •  " 

He  seemed  the  band  to  hear,  and  see, 
And  as  if  far  off,  and  without  his  fife — 
He  sadly  sighed  with  a  choking  strife 

"  And  they'll  all  be  there  but  me." 

$1 


32  POEMS 

"  How  long  will  he  last? "  a  young  man  said — 
"  He  will  hardly  stay  till  the  midnight  hour," 

The  doctor  spake. — Then  the  young  man  led 

A  band  of  players  so  near  to  his  bed, 
That  the  old  man  heard  their  power — 

"What's  that !  what's  that? "  he  quickly  cried ; 

"'The  Campbells  are  Comin'— Hark  !  be  still;" 
And  he  lifted  himself  to  lean  on  his  side 
Till  they  struck  a  strain  that  had  satisfied; 

Then  how  did  his  old  heart  thrill — 

He  leaped  to  the  floor  with  his  arms  raised  high, 

As  the  music  clearer,  and  louder  came — 
And  with  very  joy  in  his  soul  did  die 
As  he  said,  in  the  arms  of  the  watchers  nigh. 
"We're  all  at  hame  !  We're  all  at  hame  ! " 

There  are  hills  and  vales  we  have  longed  to  see — 

And  old  time  faces  remembered  still ; 
We  mention  the  names  that  used  to  be — 
Till  the  eyes  grow  moist  with  the  melody 
Of  voices  mingled  the  heart  to  thrill. 

Oh,  when  the  troops  from  the  far-off  sky, 

For  the  sweet  home-gathering  down  shall  come—- 
And our  death-dull  ears  hear  the  music  nigh, 
And  wake  to  the  joy,  may  we  soon  reply, 
"  We're  all  at  home  ;  we're  all  at  home." 


THE  OLD  DOOR-SILL. 

Dedicated  to  Frank  A.  Walker,  of  Wisconsin,  in  remem- 
brance of  his  old  home  where  we  used  to  play. 

JLWAYS  under  foot  remaining, 

Yet  with  not  a  word  complaining, 
What  a  story  it  might  tell — 
What  through  all  its  years  unfolding 
Changeful  scenes,  ever  beholding, 
Mirthful  moods,  and  sorrow's  spell ! 

How  gay  hearts  have  bounded  o'er  it, 
And  light  feet  have  tripped  before  it, 

When  as  yet  the  home  was  new  ! 
Then  dull  care  found  not  the  dwelling, 
And  no  burden  worth  the  telling 

Lay  upon  the  happy  two. 

Didst  thou  hear  the  merry  laughter 
Fill  the  house  from  floor  to  rafter, 

When  on  creeping  hands  and  knees ; 
Little  rogue  edged  closely  to  thee, 
And  with  wonder  first  did  view  thee 

With  so  much  outside  to  please  ? 

But  with  baby  joy  soon  over, 
Thou  didst  see  the  watching  mother 

Snatch  the  pet  from  danger's  brink. 
Smothering  half  his  screams  with  kisses, 
And  for  outdoor  joy  he  misses 

Quickly  of  some  toy  doth  think. 


34  POEMS 

Not  all  pleasure  was  thy  portion^ 
For  how  many  had  the  notion 

With  their  rough  and  snowy  feet, 
To  come  down  on  thee  with  power, 
And  through  years  how  many  an  hour 

Thy  poor  form  was  sorely  beat ! 
Yes,  and  hard  thy  fare  for  shelter, 
Storm,  or  mild,  or  furious  pelter, 

Found  thee  always  in  the  way  j 
And  what  must  have  failed  to  cheer  thee, 
Was  to  have  a  door  so  near  thee, 

And  be  forced  without  to  stay. 
Thou  art  worn  with  time  and  friction. 
Hast  thou  stories  of  affliction  ? 

Surely,  long  has  been  thy  day 
"Yes ;  the  feet  that  travelled  o'er  mex 
Many  a  year,  uneven  wore  me ; 

But  at  length  they  passed  away. 
"  Tears  fell  on  me  as  we  parted 
From  a  mourner,  heavy-hearted, 

Close  behind  the  casket  home  i; 
One  by  one  the  inmates  scattered, 
Till  the  house  grew  old  and  shattered. 

Then  they  left  it  like  a  tomb. 
"  Ruin  played  his  pranks  above  me, 
And  his  mighty  hand  did  shove  me 

From  my  place,  and  here  I  fell, 
Desolate,  till  you  came  to  me, 
And  with  pity  seemed  to  view  me, 

Helping  me  my  story  tell." 


PATHS. 

cannot  take  our  paths  away ; 
They  linger  when  our  feet  are  gone ) 
Bordered  with  green,  yet  trodden  gray, 

With  here  and  there  a  smoothe-worn  stone, 
I  know  the  ways  of  little  feet, 

And  those  of  others,  older  grown ; 
And  oft,  as  o'er  these  paths  I  beat, 
I  muse  with  wordless  thoughts  alone. 

I  follow  now  a  presence  swift ; 

A  tire  is  fluttering  in  the  wind — 
Or  gentler  breezes  softly  lift 

Her  curls — and  I  am  just  behind ; 
I  hear  the  frolic  in  the  laugh, 

And  then  the  shouting  words  of  glee, 
As,  running  half  and  halting  half, 

The  player  cries, "  You  can't  catch  me  !  " 

Sometimes  I  meet  in  memory's  way 

The  stretching  hand,  the  glance  of  eyes  ; 
My  lips  seem  parting,  as  to  say 

Some  words  of  welcome  and  surprise  ; 
Or,  on  my  ear  there  sweetly  fall 

The  words  of  old-time  tenderness  ; 
My  arms  are  thrilled  to  hear  the  call, 

And  rise  all  ready  to  caress. 

m 


36  POEMS 

Ah  !  how  they  mock  me — these  old  ways  ! 

And  yet,  I  would  not  lose  their  thread ; 
These  hallowed  paths  of  other  days 

Lead  from  my  heart  out  to  my  dead. 
Sleep  on  !  I  tread  where  you  have  trod ; 

Your  goal  may  soon  arrest  my  feet ; 
Till,  breaking  from  the  tangled  sod, 

In  everlasting  joy  we  meet. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  HAND. 

JHREB  fair  ones  walked  by  a  silvery  stream^ 

'Midst  the  beauties  of  meadow-land ; 
And  the  fickle  question  arose,  it  would  seem, 
Which  owned  the  most  beautiful  hand. 

One  dipt  hers  deep  in  the  flowing  brook, 
That,  bathed  in  the  waters  so  clear, 

Its  form  and  its  flesh  so  pure  might  look, 
As  the  lovliest  far  to  appear. 

One  plucked  the  strawberry — choicest  fruit, 

Till  her  finger  tips  were  pink ; 
And  held  the  stems  from  the  broken  root, 

As  sure  of  the  prize,  to  think. 

The  other  gathered  the  violets  sweet, 
Till  the  fragrance ,  and  color,  too, 

Filled  her  hand  with  a  grace  complete—- 
And hers  was  the  choice,  she  knew. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  HAND  37 

A  beggar-woman  was  passing  by, 

Seeking  her  gifts  of  all — 
But  the  three  did  the  homely  dame  deny, 

Who  asked  for  a  favor  small. 

A  damsel  near,  with  her  unwashed  hands, 

And  empty  of  flowers  and  fruit, — 
Answered  the  pitiful  one's  demands 

With  a  pittance  for  her  suit. 

Then  the  old  dame  asked,  "Why  thus  contend?" 
And  their  beautiful  hands  they  raised  ; 

And  told  her  she  the  dispute  might  end, 
Each  hoping  to  be  praised. 

''They  are  beautiful  all,  indeed,"  she  spake  $ 

But  they  pressed  her  still  to  tell 
Which  of  the  hands  the  praise  must  take 

As  in  beauty  to  excel. 

"  Not  the  hand  of  the  brook  so  clean, 

Nor  the  one  so  tipped  with  red — 
Nor  the  ringers  that  violets  lie  between, 

Is  the  beautiful  hand,"  she  said, — 

"But  the  hand  that  giveth  to  the  poor 

Is  the  fairest  of  them  all ;  " 
Then  an  angel's  face  they  stood  before, 

And  her  staff  away  did  fall. 


[OLD  BROTHER  STEADFAST. 

The  Church  at  Icy-Glen,  was  for  a  long  time  in  a  deplora- 
ble condition;  and  the  trouble  was  just  this: — A  few  head- 
strong, worldly  minded  members  wrere  bound  to  control  the 
whole  arrangement;  and  the  minister  himself  was  somewhat 
under  their  influence,  though  he  had  groanings  of  heart  over 
the  way  things  went,  and  could  but  laugh  inside  for  joy,  and 
outside,  too,  a  little,  when  with  the  true  ones  of  his  flock,  as 
the  following  poem  appeared  in  the  local  paper: 

CAUSE  AND  CURE. 

[AT'S  the  matter  with  our  church  ? 
We  are  all  confounded — 
lings  have  taken  such  a  lurch, 
Every  saint  is  wounded. 

If  we  had  some  prophet  near, 

To  tell  us  how  to  manage, 
Who  could  see  the  future  clear, 

We  might  repair  the  damage. 

Ah  !  this  is  the  sore  lament 

Of  many  a  congregation, 
And  I  will  be  that  seer  sent 

To  give  the  explanation. 

Such  churches  need  no  prophet's  eye 

Their  future  course  pursuing— 
The  past  he  only  need  descry, 

To  find  the  cause  of  ruin. 


OLD  BROTHER   STEADFAST  39 

The  future  will  provide  the  cure 

In  such  a  joyous  ending, 
If  now  the  evils  they  endure 

They  set  about  the  mending. 

Let  Judas  go  who  holds  the  purse, 

And  covets  all  that's  in  it ; 
He  is  a  traitor  and  a  curse 

I  would  not  trust  a  minute. 

And  Diotrephes  long  has  thought 

Himself  above  all  others — 
His  place,  with  brass  and  money  sought, 

He  leads  among  the  brothers. 

And  Demas  if  he  goes  to  church, 

Is  out  against  the  preacher, 
And  there  are  those  who  place  their  perch 

Around  the  worldly  creature. 

And  Mrs.  Toss-Her-Head  is  there, 

Who  wears  the  gayest  bonnet ; 
Is  she  a  member — I  declare 

All  eyes  are  fixed  upon  it. 

And  money  goes  with  lavish  hands 

To  ape  the  latest  fashion — 
Flowers  and  ribbons,  puffs  and  bands, 

Engross  the  worldly  passion. 

O  church  of  Christ !  break  from  your  foes, 

Fall  on  your  knees  confessing  ; 
If  Judas  to  the  halter  goes, 

Christ  will  command  his  blessing. 


4O  POEMS 

Cry  out  till  worldly  ones  depart, 

Or  else  repenting,  praying, 
Unite  with  brokenness  of  heart, 

The  Lord's  commands  obeying. 

Have  from  your  alters  daily  rise, 

In  holy  consecration, 
The  incense  of  sweet  sacrifice — 

Your  bodies  the  oblation. 

So  will  the  Spirit  then  abide 

Within  the  temple  holy, 
And  Christ  will  own  in  love  his  bride, 

Walking  with  him  so  lowly. 

Why,  what  a  stir  this  poem  made !  the  Judas  of  the  church 
didn't  hang  himself,  but  he  hung  up  his  Sunday  hat  at  home: 
orie  of  the  church-killers  sold  out  and  went  away,  and  a  good 
revival  after  a  little  while  boiled  off  much  of  the  scum. 

Just  by  the  foot  of  the  hill  at  the  end  of  Icy-Glen,  a  neat 
little  cottage  stood  on  a  small  farm.  The  owner  of  which 
not  liking  the  turn  things  took,  offered  to  sell  out  to  a  stranger 
passing  that  way,  who  stayed  to  bait  his  team.  The  bar- 
gain was  closed,  and  in  a  few  weeks  the  home  had  changed 
families.  Now  said  the  new  comer,  as  the  old  tenant  was 
about  to  depart,  I  must  have  a  deed  of  your  church  pew, 
"for  I  al'ays  go  to  meetin'  storm  or  shine,"  and  my  good 
pastor  has  come  to  call  me  "  Old  brother  Steadfast;  "  but  I 
don't  care  for  that — I  am  rooted  and  grounded  in  the  Chris- 
tian faith;  "  An'  I  wouldn't  giv'  two  cents  for  this  airth  only 
to  stay  on,  and  sleep  in,  till  we  come  to  the  better  land." 

So  it  was  soon  noised  all  about  the  neighborhood,  that  an 
Old  Mr.  Steadfast  had  bought  the  farm  over  the  brook.  And 
he  began  from  his  new  home  to  go  to  meeting  as  he  had  al- 
ways done  from  his  old.  So  a  few  weeks  after  his  arrival 
his  minister  approached  him  thus: — 

Well,  I  am  glad  to  find  you,  Brother  S., 

Filling  your  place  in  church  this  stormy  day. 


OLD   BROTHER   STEADFAST  4! 

You  are  indeed  "  Old  Steadfast,"  I  confess, 

And  put  to  shame  the  younger  just  away. 
It's  two  good  miles  at  least  that  you  have  come, 

With  all  the  way  on  foot  this  wind  to  press, 
And  more  than  twenty  live  this  side  your  home 

That  nothing  would  bring  out  but  some  distress — 
Sunday  I  mean — week-days  'tis  different  though — 

They  go  and  come  on  business — here  and  there, 
With  no  let  up  for  either  wind  or  snow, 

And  women  do  not  wait  to  have  it  fair. 

I  know  it,  Pastor.     You  hav'  said  it  right — 

A  meetin'  an'  the  world  are  diff'rent  things ; 
Them  little  pocket  gods  are  kept  in  sight 

By  pullin'  jest  apart  the  pusses'  strings. 
An'  there  be  other  such-like-gods  astray ; 

An'  lots  o'  members  in  our  church,  I  think, 
Don't  mind  a  ride  out  on  a  stormy  day 

If  they  can  bag  'em  with  their  other  chink. 
Jest  let  th'  people  know  aroun'  this  town 

Each  'on  'em  could  hav'  ten  dimes  by  comin'  here, 
You'd  larn  the  gods  they  worship  are  all  down, 

And  sarved  in  stormy  days  as  well  as  clear. 
You  call  me  "Steadfast."     Wall,  I've  had  this  rule 

I  larned  long,  long  ago  from  God's  good  word—- 
It reads,  "  be  steadfast,  and  not  movable, 

For  not  in  vain's  your  sarvice  in  the  Lord." 

Now  this  "Old  Brother  Steadfast"  was  none  of  your  lazy, 
Christians  I'll  assure  you;  he  would  down  on  his  knees,  and 
pray  till  every  corner  of  the  house  was  searched  with  his 
persuasive  words.  Nor  did  he  wait  to  be  asked  "  if  he  hadn't 
a  few  thoughts  to  express  for  the  Master."  He  would  up  and 


42  POEMS 

at  it,  his  full  soul  like  a  pent  up  spring  of  water,  pouring  out 
its  streams  of  salvation;  for  he  was  saved  from  the  top  of  his 
bare  head  to  the  soles  of  his  feet;  and  if  he  did  speak  his 
words  the  shortest  way  nobody  cared,  as  he  had  enough  of 
them,  and  his  thoughts  were  splendid. 

The  pastor  grew  more  and  more  hopeful  in  every  meeting, 
and  began  to  look  upon  "Brother  Steadfast"  as  a  Godsend, 
and  so  expressed — 

If  I  had  twenty  like  you,  Brother  S., 

In  every  social  meeting  that  we  hold, 
Our  gospel  work  would  be  a  grand  success 

In  this  old  town,  with  unbelief  so  bold. 
I  am  so  glad  you  moved  among  our  folks  ! 

My  hopes  have  been  increasing  since  you  came  ; 
I  notice  that  you  neither  drive  nor  coax, 

But  kindle  hearts  with  all  your  words  aflame. 
Yea,  my  discouraged  soul  I  freely  own 

Has  felt  the  throbbings  of  your  earnest  heart ; 
Your  tears  are  watering  seed  I  long  have  sown, 

And  my  dry  eyes  have  felt  the  moisture  start. 

Well,  well,  my  Pastor,  "deem  me  not  unkind," 

Pardon  the  use  of  this  larned  phrase  I've  heard — 
If  I  give  you  a  bit  of  my  old  mind, 

An'  preach  in  privat'  what  my  soul  has  stir'd. 
You  tell  o'  twenty — bless  ye  !  three  good  sticks 

Aglow  with  coals  '11  start  up  quite  a  fire, 
An*  once  a  burnin'  other  wood  we  mix 

To  mak'  it  flam*  an'  grow  higher  an'  higher. 
I  al'ays  act  on  heaven's  principle 

When  I  get  into  meetin'  with  a  few ; 
An*  sence  I  com'  here,  I  still  use  this  rule, 

An'  hav'  been  reck'ning  Sister  Brown  an*  you. 


OLD   BROTHER   STEADFAST  43 

But  I  confess  the  fire  seemed  nighly  gone, 

An'  I  was  humsick  for  a  time  at  fust, 
Until  I  found  you  two  with  me  hitched  on, 

Then  my  old  heart  almost  with  gladness  bust. 
"Where  two  or  three,"  you  know  the  Savior  said, 

Get  in  tergether,  meetin'  in  his  name — 
"  There  I  am  in  the  midst" — I  heard  it  read; 

That's  what,  my  pastor,  kindles  up  the  flame. 
Now  do  not  wait,  dear  man,  for  Squire  B. 

To  get  his  place  in  his  soft  cushioned  pew ; 
Or  Uncle  Joe,  so  rich — but  come  with  me 

Thro'  rain,  or  shine,  an'  I  will  be  with  you  : 
An*  we  can  al'ays  reckon  Sister  Brown, 

An'  al'ays  reckon  on  the  Lord  ;  you  know 
We  three  with  him  can  fire  up  this  town, 

Settin'  the  dead-wood  of  your  church  aglow. 

The  timely  advice  is  taken,  and  a  series  of  meetings  planned, 
during  which  when  held,  Icy-Glen  gets  thoroughly  thawed 
out,  and  for  a  few  weeks  men  little  cared  whether  the  Spring's 
wood  was  cut,  or  not;  and  the  sisters  put  off  making  soap,  for 
they  said,  we  can  afford  to  wait,  we  are  getting  such  an  effec- 
tual cleaning  up  spiritually. 

Converts  were  many,  and  everybody  loved  Old  Brother 
Steadfast;  but  love  with  flattering  words  had  no  effect  to  in- 
jure the  dear  "old  soul."  The  minister  also,  rejoicing  said: 

Thank  God,  my  brother,  that  you  came  to  town, 

And  came  to  our  church  when  we  were  dead ; 
You,  in  your  homely  talk,  melted  us  down 

With  but  the  simple  words  you  always  said. 
Thank  God  !  I  will  for  your  plain  words  to  me, 

For  your  advice  just  what  we  ought  to  do; 
Our  church  is  all  revived,  we  gladly  see, 

And  converts  are  among  us  not  a  fewa 


44  POEMS 

Now  I  want  you,  when  I  this  flock  baptize,  - 

To  bring  them  to  the  altar  every  one • 
I  know  'twill  fill  with  gladness  your  old  eyes 

To  see  them  take  this  other  step  right  on. 

"  Dear  pastor,  in  this  sarvice  your  intendin' 

You'll  have  to  me  excuse  from  out'n  your  plan ; 
The  reason  why,  if  it  won't  be  offendin' — 

In  short,  I'll  try  to  hav'  you  understan'. 
I  b'lieve  in  goin'  clean  down  under  water, 

As  Jesus  sot  th'  example  when  with  John. 
What  crowds  onto  th'  river  bank  did  lo'ter, 

To  see  the  dove  light  down  his  head  upon. 
To  bury  folks  is  jest  a  clear  reflection 

Of  what  was  preached  by  Jesus  and  Saint  Paul, 
An'  shows  by  act  th'  blessed  resurrection ; 

Else  why,  Paul  asks,  are  folks  baptized  at  all. 
You  know  Paul  writ  th'  Romans  they  were  planted. 

Who  ever  sprinkles  corn  to  make  it  grow  ? 
If  you'll  baptize  as  Paul  an'  Jesus  wanted, 

I'll  bring  th'  convarts  to  ye  in  a  row. 
An'  if  you'll  take  two  weeks  for  careful  study, 

Then  own  things  as  they  used  to  'arly  be, 
You'll  be  immarsed  yerself.     Then, '  Everybody,' 

You'll  say,  'come  down  an'  be  baptized  like  me."' 

Now  comes  the  tug  of  war  with  the  young  minister,  not 
that  the  converts  were  to  be  divided,  for  his  was  the  only 
church  at  Icy-Glen;  but  he  was  a  sprinkler — yet,  honestly  so, 
since  he  had  not  studied  to  know  the  most  perfect  way :  and 
the  old  brother  had  piled  so  many  New  Testament  texts  be- 
fore his  eyes,  that  for  a  little  while  he  knew  hardly  what  to 
do.  But  through  them  he  goes,  in  Greek,  English,  and  every 
way,  till  on  his  knees  he  cries  out — "Under  the  cross  of  the 


OLD    BROTHER   STEADFAST  45 

ever  ble-sed  Jesus  I  will  go  forward."      And  a  baptizer  is 
called  to  lay  him  in  his  watery  grave. 

All  right  so  far,  but  Peter  Talkative  is  now  in  every  meet- 
ing greatly  revived;  and  little  brother  Make-You-See  who  got 
offended  with  a  former  pastor  for  singing  him  down,  is  back 
to  want  his  half  hour  in  which  to  tell  the  whole  plan  over, 
from  the  fall  of  Adam  to  the  opening  of  the  gates  of  the  new 
Jerusalem;  and  the  converts  can't  eat  so  much  every  night,  so 
the  church  begins  to  take  cold,  and  some  grow  feverish.  Now 
the  minister  says  to  himself:  Old  Brother  Steadfast  is  the 
D.  D,  of  our  church,  I'll  go  and  get  his  advice. 

Another  little  matter,  Brother  S— , 

I  wish  to  interchange  in  thought  with  you, 
Since  I  have  learned  of  late  to  more  than  guess 

The  pulpit  may  be  taught  from  out  the  pew. 
You  know  your  good  advice  awhile  ago 

A  sermon  proved  to  make  me  Bible-wise  ; 
And  you  did  lead  the  converts  in  a  row, 

That  I,  myself  immersed,  might  them  baptize. 
How  shall  we  plan  to  draw  the  talent  out 

From  these  young  people  who  have  come  with  us  ? 
The  older  brethren  pray,  and  talk,  and  shout, 

And  should  I  check  them  there  would  be  a  fuss. 
They  take  the  time,  they  love  to  preach  so  well, 

And  quite  forget  the  little  ones,  I  fear ; 
I  wish  they  wouldn't  all  our  doctrine  tell, 

And  try  to  make  each  point  amazing  clear. 

Dear  Pastor,  I'm  so  glad  you  mentioned  this — 
I've  been  a  wantin'  for  to  talk  with  you  ; 

An'  now  I  see  'twill  not  be  thought  amiss 
For  me  to  tell  in  short  what  I  would  do. 

Nex'  Sunday  giv'  this  text  of  holy  writ, 
What  Jesus  on  a  time  to  Peter  said — 


46  POEMS 

You  "  feed  my  lambs/'  that  is  a  part  of  it, 

An*  dwell  on  that  when  you  the  rest  hav*  read. 
Say  to  us  sheep  which  you  are  called  to  tend, 

Ther  lambs  must  hav'  a  chance  ter  thrive  an'  grow — 
Have  milk  an'  tender  food — then  recommend 

To  put  their  fodder  down  a  little  low. 
An*  the  old  sheep  must  never  crowd  th'  young 

Ter  take  for  once  their  feedin*  place  away; 
So  lambs  to  eat  will  hav*  ter  use  ther  tongue — 

This  means  ter  giv*  'em  time  ter  say  the'r  say. 
An'  thar  would  grow  no  sheep  but  for  ther  lambs, — 

Talk  it  right  out,  young  brother,  don't  ye  fear, — 
Tell  us  ole  folks  that  we  are  now  th'  dams 

Ter  nurtur*  the  young  flock  that  gathers  here. 
An'  you  yerself  tak'  pains  some  meetin'  night 

To  get  ther  lambs  to  do  the'r  eatin'  fust ; 
An'  make  the  ole  ones  v?ait  a  leetle  might, 

Then  prais'  an'  joy  from  ev'ry  heart'll  bust. 

Aunt  Sally  Seekyouout  is  a  dear  &ood  member,  but  too 
particular  altogether  about  the  use  of  language,  being  an  old 
school  teacher,  and  a  maiden  lady  out  of  choice,  though  she 
always  smiles  to  here  Brother  Steadfast  talk. 

Well,  unwisely  she  undertook  to  criticize  an  expression  drop- 
ped by  Sister  Sensitive  in  one  of  her  exhortations;  and  O,  my! 
the  two  were  apart  at  once ;  Sister  Sensitive  guessed  she  under- 
stood English,  and  knew  the  sense  of  words  that  she  had 
used.  And  so  the  two  went  talking  aloud  awny  after  three 
successive  meetings,  and  though  both  were  kindly  remon- 
strated with,  a  few  began  to  take  sides  with  each.  The  pas- 
tor got  the  two  together  in  the  vestry,  yet  little  seemed  to  be 
accomplished,  and  he  left  them  both  sullen  as  he  finished 
his  talk,  and  again  he  resolved  to  visit  his  old  counsellor. 

I  hope  you  won't  be  tired,  dear  Brother  S — 9 
If  I  keep  coming  when  a  little  blue  $ 


OLD   BROTHER   STEADFAST  47 

This  evening  I  am  here  in  sore  distress, 

To  ask  advice  about  a  certain  Two ; 
They  are  at  variance  on  some  small  affair, 

And  talk  keeps  driving  them  more  wide  apart  j 
'Twas  nothing  much  to  start  with  I  declare, 

But  bitter  roots  are  growing  in  the  heart. 
Our  Sister  Brown  is  pained  to  have  things  so  ; 

She  says  'twill  hurt  the  cause  here  and  around. 
I  talked  with  her,  and  her  advice  was,  go 

See  Brother  Steadfast  for  his  counsel  sound. 

Dear  me  !  'tis  sich  a  pity  at  this  stage 

That  there  should  be  a  ruptur'  in  th'  band, 
But  Satan  has  been  wakin'up  ter  rage, 

An*  Christian  tools  he  likes  ter  take  in  hand. 
He  knows  that  when  perfessors  fall  in  war, 

Folks  in  ther  world  can  hav'  a  good  excuse 
For  stayin'  in  their  sins  just  whar  they  are, 

Ter  laugh  at  ther  reports  of  much  abuse. 
Wall,  hav'  they  been  tergether?     Yes,  ye  say, 

But  when  tergather  they  are  fur  apart ; 
An'  yet  they  both  into  one  heaven  pray, 

An*  ask  one  sparit  ter  control  th'  heart. 
Both  too  are  members  in  long  fellowship, 

An'  in  one  body  tied  by  cov'nant  rules — 
So,  if  in  different  ways  ye  let  'em  slip, 

Their  love'll  tarn  to  hatred  when  it  cools 
The  only  way  when  sich  ones  disagree, 

Is  jest  ter  take  ther  steps  of  Holy  Writ, 
Cov'rin'  what  faults  ye  can  with  charity  °3 

If  both  hav'  sinned  let  both  be  owniii*  it. 


48  POEMS 

I've  larned  by  long  exparance  with  disputes, 

How  futiP  'tis  to  arg'e  ter  git  right ; 
Pure  gospel  love'll  kill  discordant  roots, 

An'  end  ther  best  of  any  way — a  fight. 
If  they  were  not  church  tied,  each  runnin'  loose, 

Folks  need  but  keep  a  waitin'  for  awhile, 
For  wrong  can't  stay  in  one  ter  make  abuse 

With  long  continuance  but  ther  man'll  spile. 
I  of  en  muse  that  right  is,  slow  of  foot, 

An'  wrong  runs  by  sometimes  an'  cheers  his  gait, 
But  right  jogs  slowly  on  if  none  salute, 

An'  right'll  come  out  right  if  folks'll  wait. 

Glorious!  Glorious!  was  one  Thursday  evening  meeting, 
and  the  beauty  of  the  Autumnal  moon  had  brought  a  large 
crowd  together.  Old  Brother  Steadfast  was  at  his  best  on 
"Confessin'  an'  bein'  healed,"  and  how  the  fire  burned  the 
meeting  through;  Aunt  Sally  felt  a  coal  touch  her  old  lips, 
and  she  was  on  her  feet  in  no  time,  and  with  courtesy  and 
grace  had  everything  fixed  up  with  the  offended  sister. 

Now  when  the  people  waked  up  to  the  fact,  what  a  shout 
arose,  after  which  all  sung — "  From  whence  doth  this  union 
arise" — all  differences  seemed  to  be  at  once  forgotten,  and 
after  meeting  it  was  quietly  planned  to  have  a  jubilee,  and 
gift  party  at  the  minister's  home. 

Good  evening,  Brother  Steadfast,  Here  again  ! 

You  can't  find  fault  I'm  sure,  if  others  do, 
About  my  visiting  my  fellow-men — 

Or  one  of  them  at  any  rate — that's  you. 
Our  folks  have  got  it  going  all  abroad, 

Since  it  is  harmony  and  peace  once  more, 
That  they  will  meet  to  show  their  sweet  accord 

Next  Tuesday  night  upon  my  parlor  floor. 
I  got  a  hint  of  this,  as  I  suppose, 

Lest  Alice  should  be  taken  by  surprise — 


OLD    BROTHER    STEADFAST 

And  then  we  might  be  gone  away,  who  knows? 

As  far  as  that's  concerned  they  acted  wise. 
But  what  I  want  to  ask  of  you  is  this — 

Being  aware  how  careful  we  should  walk — 
Do  you  imagine  it  would  be  amiss 

To  have  a  houseful  for  a  social  talk  ? 

Wall,  there,  I'll  have  to  call  you  Timothy  — 

My  gospel  son — you  come  so  much  to  larn. 
An*  then  you  are  so  quick  to  hear  ter  me — 

I'm  'feared  I'll  get  to  run  the  whoP  consarn. 
But  howsumever  this  is  my  advice — 

Take  it  or  leave  it  'twill  be  all  the  same — 
That  dear  old  gospel  rule  comes  in  here  nice, 

We  ought  ter  git  tergether  in  His  name. 
Now  I  will  tell  you  plainly  what  I  think ; 

I'm  out  an'  out  agin  these  church  lervees, 
Got  up  ter  git  away  the  worldling's  chink, 

With  onreligious  times  in  what'll  please. 
Yet  I  am  not  opposed — don't  think  I  am — 

To  meetin'  at  your  house  a  hundred  strong, 
If  we  can  read  ter  close  th'  thirtieth  psalm, 

An*  hav'  some  prayin'  arter  some  sweet  song. 
There'll  be  good  salt  enuff  I  feel  assured 

To  keep  whoever  comes  to  meet  with  you  ; 
An*  mebby  some  sick  sinner  will  git  cured 

If  we  are  doin'  what  we  ought  ter  do. 
'Tis  time  we  looked  financial  matters  up, 

For  preachers  like  we  others  hav'  ter  live  * 
You  hav'  been  sowin' — now  receive  ther  crop — 

Ther  little  that  each  on  us  has  ter  give, 


49 


50  POEMS 

Some  people  fight  th9  hat,  or  money  box 

In  any  public  meetin'  bein'  took  'round, 
Ter  take  ther  muzzle  from  th'  workin'  ox, 

That  he  may  share  ther  profit  of  ther  ground. 
Well,  you  hav'  been  quite  straitened  I'm  afeared, 

An'  I  am  glad  our  folks  are  gettin'  stirred  ; 
Now  if  they  bring  farm-products  don't  be  skeered, 

I  wish  they'd  pile  you  in  a  winter's  hoard. 

1890. 


SO  MANY  THINGS. 

IO  many  days  of  weariness  and  trial, 

So  many  nights  of  watchfulness  and  pain  j 

So  many  battles  sore  of  self-denial, 
A  lasting  victory  and  peace  to  gain. 

So  many  sicknesses  to  bring  the  hour 
That  puts  the  fetters  cold  on  every  limb ; 

So  many  fears  that  loom  beyond  our  power, 

And  hang  like  shadows  round  the  grave's  low  rim, 

So  many  graves  under  our  poor  protection, 
Guarded  with  tears  that  fall  above  the  sod  ; 

Yet  waiting  sorrow  sees  the  resurrection 

That  brings  our  own  and  us  to  be  with  God. 

And,  then,  so  many  doubts  bewildering  sadly 
Our  broken  way,  like  clouds  above  us  hung, 

Making  us  grope  or  sometimes  murmur  madly, 
While  hope  and  peace  awhile  away  are  flung. 


DO  51 

So  many  grievings  that  we  shrank  so  weakly, 
To  let  misgivings  hid«  from  us  the  crown  ; 

And  ah  !  so  many  struggles,  kneeling  meekly, 
To  reach  the  heights  from  which  we  tumbled  down. 

So  many  things — O  to  he  over  yonder, 

Where  tired  faith  will  rest  in  clearest  sight ; 

Where  not  a  thing  will  serve  our  souls  -O  sunder 
From  sweetest  rapture  in  eternal  light. 

Poor,  throbbing  heart,  submit  a  little  longer, 
Poor,  way-sore  feet,  still  keep  the  narrow  way ; 

Let  faith  and  hope  and  love  be  growing  stronger, 
'Tis  but  a  little  while  till  endless  day. 


DO. 

p|  KT  not  thy  noisy  lips  alone  be  telling 

The  way  that  mortals  daily  should  behave ; 
Flashes  of  holy  life  around  thy  dwelling, 
And  everywhere  for  right  are  far  excelling 

All  promises  to  do,  however  brave. 

We  hear  the  thunder  far  above  us  rolling, 

Kut  see  the  effect  when  falls  the  lightning's  stroke, 
The  noise  may  be  but  as  the  bell's  loud  tolling, 
Only  meanwhile  the  listening  ear  controlling, 
Till  near  by  falls  bestrewn  the  shattered  oak. 


5  2  POEMS 

Then,  we  remember  not  alone  the  thunder 

Peal  after  peal  had  rumbled  overhead, 
Just  that  one  bolt  fills  all  the  soul  with  wonder, 
Which  breaks  with  power  the  mighty  trunk  asunder, 

And  many  words  about  such  work  are  said. 

Speak  loud  and  well,  then  match  thy  word  with  action ; 

Smite  wrong  with  lively  blows  by  doing  right. 
Noise  for  a  time  may  be  one  great  attraction, 
But  meaning  follows  sound  w;th  satisfaction, 

When  force  of  character  bursts  on  the  sight. 


BUILD  WELL. 

deep,  the  rock  now  near  thee  lies, 
Though  piles  of  earth  may  be  between  ; 
For  thou  art  building  to  be  seen 
And  known  by  more  than  earthly  eyes. 

The  Master-builder  stands  by  thee, 
And  crieth  cast  the  soil  away  j 
Search  for  the  rock  whereon  to  lay 

The  strength  of  what  thou  art  to  be. 

Train  in  thyself  a  willing  mind 

To  come  to  him,  and  hear,  and  do 
Whatever  he  may  ask  of  you, 

So  shalt  thou  this  foundation  find» 


ZEAL  53 


Storms  are  to  try  us  near  and  far ; 
We  are  not  building  for  a  day, 
Such  houses  surely  will  give  way 

Beneath  the  universal  jar. 

But  who  on  the  eternal  Rock 

Resteth  his  hopes  for  time  and  more, 
Passeth  unhurt  all  dangers  o'er, 

And  stands  beyond   earth's  final  shock. 

Dig  deep,  time's  rubbish  cast  aside — 
Stay  every  thing  on  Christ  alone  ; 
Then  feel  as  stable  as  his  throne, 

Nor  dread  the  force  of  any  tide. 

All  heaven  will  be  thy  sure  defence, 
Christ  will  not  leave  too  long  his  own, 
Who  make  their  trust  in  him  alone  ; 

Such  wisdom  he  will  recompense. 


ZEAL. 

jHEN  stormy  passions  rage  within  thy  soul, 
And  stir  thy  tongue  to  utter  fiery  words, 
Say  not,  I  have  a  zeal  beyond  control — 

Who  have  not  scabbards,  should  not  carry  swords. 

True  zeal  is  softened  by  warm-hearted  love, 
And  reasons,  while  it  urges  loud  and  strong ; 

Its  force  is  drawn  from  power  up  above, 
Which  moveth  one  all  unafraid  along. 


54  POEMS 

Once,  we  have  heard  of  men  who  saw  another 
Casting  some  devils  out,  aside  from  them ; 

They  scorned  his  work,  disowned  him  as  a  brother, 
Till  Jesus  did  their  selfish  zeal  condemn. 

And  once,  impetuous,  in  these  early  days, 

The  thoughts  of  flesh  o'ermasiering  better  love — 

These  same  would  call  from  heaven  consuming  blaze, 
Till  Jesus  did  the  unworthy  thought  reprove. 

Take  truth's  straight  path,  and  pray  for  Heaven's  light, 
And  calmly  hark  thy  call  to  understand  ; 

Deem  not  the  sun  of  day  too  hot,  or  bright 
Or  night  too  dark  for  toil  if  God  demand 

Then,  harness  zeal  at  once  to  do  thy  work ; 

But  let  discretion  hold  for  thee  the  rein ; 
The  Two  together  labor  will  not  shirk, 

And,  God  o'er  all,  will  give  thy  doings  gain. 


BE  YOURSELF. 

|E  who  would  seek  another's  gift, 
Himself  above  himself  to  lift ; 
Himself  belittles  in  all  eyes, 
As  one  who  is  not  over- wise. 

Once  on  a  time  a  little  king, 
Mighty  correct  with  stone  and  sling, 
Another's  armrr  donned  awhile, 
Which  made  no  doubt  his  courtiers  smile 


TRUE   GREATNESS  55 

Not  this  alone,  but  common  sense 
Made  him  throw  off  the  vain  pretense, 
When  he  his  simple  weapon  took 
To  turn  the  spear  against  him  shook. 

So  be  yourself  in  every  way, 
Think  for  yourself,  and  say  your  say  ; 
Use  your  own  voice,  and  put  your  hands 
Where  your  inspired  soul  demands. 

Let  nature  have  her  way  with  you, 
No  matter  what  you  are  called  to  do ; 
And  let  God  use  you  for  his  owft, 
Then  giants  will  be  overthrown. 


TRUE   GREATNESS. 

||E  is  the  mightiest  man  who  rules  himself — 
And  he  the  wisest  who  his  weakness  sees  ; 
The  humblest  who  can  sense  his  sinfulness, 
And  falls  with  moistened  eyes  upon  his  knees. 

He  is  the  gentlest,  who  just  kisses  babes, 

And  talks  with  birds  that  sing  above  his  way ; 

And  he  the  bravest  who  disdains  to  fight, 
Yet  calmly,  firmly,  meekly  says  his  say. 

He  is  the  richest  man  whose  bank  is  heaven, 
Holding  the  name  with  which  to  enter  there  ; 

His  hut  may  be  of  logs,  and  landless  he, 
But  in  his  bosom  swings  the  key  of  prayer. 


56  POEMS 

He  is  the  truest  man  whose  well  set  scales 

Weigheth  his  words  and  acts  with  steady  thought — 

Who  will  arraign  himself  for  evil  doing, 

Nor  hide  his  blame  with  this — 'tis  naught,  'tis  naught. 

He  is  the  safest  man  to  be  a  guide 

Who  watcheth  lest  he  too  should  lose  the  way ; 

Finding  the  tracks  of  those  who  went  before, 
And  shouting  back  the  words  they  used  to  say. 

He  is  the  happiest  man  who  seeks  a  throne, 
And  hastens  on  through  life  to  take  his  crown, 

Then  says  with  joy  I'll  wait  till  Jesus  comes, 
And  in  this  faith  and  hope  he  lieth  down. 


YE  MAY  DO  GOOD. 

"For  ye  have  the  poor  with  you  always,  and  whensoever  ye 
will  ye  may  do  them  good." 

PT  does  them  good  to  look  into  their  faces, 
With  along  pity  for  their  low  estate  ; 
sit  with  them  awhile  in  their  poor  places, 
And  some  sweet  story  of  the  Lord  relate. 


It  does  them  good  to  fill  want's  bony  fingers 
With  little  bundles  from  your  plenteous  store  ; 

What  you  miss  not,  with  them  in  memory  lingers, 
As  bygone  blessings  which  some  angel  bore. 


HOW   WILL   IT   BE  57 

It  does  them  good,  when  the  sick  head  is  aching, 
And  all  the  frame  the  hands  of  languor  seize, 

For  you  to  come,  the  fevered  wrists  uptaking, 
And  smooth  the  temples  with  a  magic  ease. 

So,  if  a  tear  starts  kindred  to  their  sorrow, 

As  such  sweet  words  they  see  your  lips  express, 

"Poor  soul,  I  hope  you  will  feel  better  by  to-morrow, 
'Tis  hard  for  you  to  bear  this  sore  distress." 

It  does  them  good  to  know  you're  not  above  them, 
Although  your  clothing  may  be  better  made  ; 

Your  kindly  acts  make  them  believe  you  love  them 
Much  more  than  if  you  simply  came  and  prayed. 

Your  goodly  deeds  in  many  ways  thus  given 
Will  pile  before  your  feet  and  theirs  such  stairs, 

That  they  will  follow  you  far  into  heaven, 

When  you  climb  up  for  them  in  making  prayers. 

And  it  will  do  you  good,  soul  starving  mortal, 
To  find  the  poor  and  bless  them  with  your  store  ; 

For  after  this  a  glance  through  heaven's  portal 
Will  catch  a  smile  from  Jesus  near  the  door. 

1889. 

HOW  WILL  IT  BE? 

)W  will  it  be  when  the  day  is  done, 

And  the  field  of  the  world  we  are  called  to  leave 
In  the  shadow  of  mercy's  sinking  sun? 

Shall  we  go  as  reapers  to  joy,  or  grieve  ? 
Shall  we  sing  of  hope  in  the  harvest  yield, 
Garnered  by  us  from  the  world's  wide  field? 


58  POEMS 

Or,  with  many  a  sigh,  if  we  remain, 

Spared  ourselves,  for  the  little  wrought — 

Shall  we  look  back  to  the  golden  grain, 
Left  afield  which  we  might  have  brought  ? 

Joy  will  arise  as  has  been  the  strife 

In  the  grasp  of  fruit  for  eternal  life. 

To  find  "  much  fruit  "  in  the  better  land, 
Safely  housed  from  the  storms  of  time, 

Gathered  and  brought  by  a  -busy  hand, 
Will  stand  a  pledge  for  a  life  sublime — 

Linger  and  reap,  as  the  sun  glides  low, 

The  day  is  ending,  we  soon  must  go. 


THE  WEALTH  OF  TEARS. 

§HERE  are  our  tears  by  mortals  so  much  needed  ? 
ijy     For  such  affection  lives  if  we  can  weep. 
Unto  the  many,  tears  may  pass  unheeded, 

But  there  are  some  whose  hearts  the  pearls  will  keep. 

Our  Jesus  wept,  telling  a  nation's  story, 

And  the  dark  sentences  that  sealed  her  doom. 

His  tears  have  come  through  years  of  pomp,  and  glory, 
To  fit  how  many  for  a  sacred  tomb.' 

Our  Jesus  wept  against  the  grave's  dark  portal, 
Though  then  his  heart  was  all  aglow  with  hope 

That  he  for  whom  he  wept — a  sleeping  mortal — 
Would  in  a  moment  at  his  voice  rise  up. 


FORETHOUGHT  59 

And,  men  have  told  who  saw  love's  melting  token, 

And  friends  have  gathered  as  their  friends  have  slept ; 

But  though  death's  slumber  hath  remained  unbroken, 
How  sweet  the  thought  hath  been — our  Jesus  wept. 

O,  let  us  weep  as  we  go  forth  proclaiming 

Our  Savior's  readiness  still  to  redeem  ; 
Words  that  float  out  on  tears  his  goodness  naming, 

Glide  to  the  heart  adown  the  silvery  stream. 

O,  let  us  weep  as  by  deep  .graves  we  linger, 
With  those,  whose  hearts,  are  broken  by  a  grief, 

And  weeping,  point  away  hope's  happy  finger 
To  Him  who  holdeth  joy  as  our  relief. 


FORETHOUGHT. 

pHY  should  the  heart  be  over  sad, 

Since  God  so  much  is  doing 
lift  away  from  earth  the  bad, 
And  then  repair  the  ruin  ? 
We  should  not  brood  on  what  has  been, 

With  sickly  melancholy ; 
We  cannot  renovate  the  scene 
By  musing  on  its  folly. 


Believe  is  just  a  glorious  word — 
The  past  our  faith  is  calling, 

The  future  too,  with  promise  stored, 
Is  ever  to  us  falling ; 


60  POEMS 

And  hope  and  faith  is  growing  strong, 

That  all  the  plans  of  heaven 
Will  right  the  wrongs  of  earth  ere  long, 

And  only  good  be  given. 

The  forces  are  not  hidden  now, 

To  work  the  transformation — 
They  pulsate  all  the  lands  below 

With  life  from  revelation  ; 
One  mighty  move  alone  we  wait, 

And  this  will  soon  be  given, 
Then  all  the  earth  in  royal  state 

Will  rise  as  pure  as  heaven. 

EARTH'S  EMPTINESS. 
|IME'S  morrow  hath  no  brighter  scene 
With  which  to  feed  my  hungry  eyes, 
Cheated  so  oft  with  gilded  lies ; 
My  souls  best  hope  from  nature  flies 
On  lasting  things  to  light  and  lean. 

Whate'er  I  have,  and  all  I  see, 
Hath  such  a  share  of  emptiness  ! 
If  I  at  times  a  child  caress, 
A  lingering  dread   of  sore  distress 

Poisons  the  sweet,  and  clings  to  me. 

My  dearest  friends  are  polished  clay, 
Sentient  but  by  a  heaven-lent  spark ; 
And  bright  as  stars  in  evening's  dark, 
Yet  transient  as  the  sea-tossed  bark 

Which  sudden  storms  may  dash  away. 


OUT   OF   TUNE  6 I 

My  cheeks  have  felt  so  many  tears, 
My  heart  hath  ached  so  oft  and  long, 
And  I  have  seen  the  strength  of  wrong, 
And  heard  the  minor  tones  of  song 

Enough  to  spoil  my  earthly  years. 

But  yonder  sweeps  a  low  gray  rim 
Around  the  watched  prophetic  sky, 
And  from  the  mountains  comes  a  cry — 
The  watchman's  shout — "THE  MORN  is  NTGH  !" 

And  nations  rise  to  look  for  Him. 

The  Light  of  everlasting  day, 
The  Life  of  all  that  death  destroys, 
The  Cure  of  all  earth's  sin  and  noise, 
The  Bringer  of  unending  joys, 

Haste,  O  !  Redeemer,  come  away. 


OUT  OF  TUNE. 

organ  stood  a  useless  thing 

Week  after  week  to  those  who  sing ; 

All  who  would  seat  themselves  to  play, 

Did  soon  arise  and  come  away. 

I  said,  I'll  go  and  look  within — 

'Tis  outwardly  as  it  hath  been  ; 

The  pedals  play  an  organ  breeze, 

Yet  discord  rings  along  the  keys. 


62  POEMS 

So,  carefully  I  laid  aside 
Piece  after  piece,  and  back-board  wide, 
Lifted  the  key -board,  when  I  found 
The  trouble  with  my  organ's  sound. 
A  mouse  had  lived  above  the  reeds, 
And  built  his  nest  for  napping  needs ; 
His  nibblings  fine,  about  were  blown, 
Stopping,  and  spoiling  many  a  tone. 

The  reeds  were  drawn,  the  brush  was  used, 
And  many  a  silent  tongue  was  loosed ; 
The  parts  replaced,  and  then  the  keys 
Rang  out  the  old-time  harmonies. 
I  thought — "  this  figure  suits  me  well, 
A  story  of  ourselves  to  tell " — 
Attuned  by  Heaven,  what  music  flows 
Harmonious  as  the  Spirit  blows. 

But,  when  some  little  mouse  ot  sin 
Creeps  from  the  outer  world  within, 
The  prayers,  the  talks,  the  songs  we  sing, 
To  listening  ears  with  discord  ring. 
Ah  !  then  what  dusting  should  there  be 
Of  every  inharmonious  key, 
Till  prayer  and  praise  in  sweet  accord 
Flow  out  as  music — to  the  Lord  ! 


"HE  KNOWS  THE  REST." 

LITTLE  girl  upon  her  father's  knee 

Was  drawn  with  love  caresses  to  his  breast, 
AncTsoon,  her  head  upon  his  shoulder  leaning, 
She  lost  herself  in  sleep  and  quiet  rest. 

He  bore  her  to  her  chamber's  little  bed, 
And  half  aroused  her  as  he  lay  her  there, 

Then  took  advantage  of  her  opening  eyes 
To  ask  her  if  she  would  forget  her  prayer. 

i 
Dear  heart,  how  dreamily  she  sought  to  say, 

Beginning,  "Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
I  pray  the  Lord," — but  too  far  gone  she  uttered, 

"  He  knows  the  rest,"  and  sank  in  slumbers  deep. 

Sweet,  tired  child  !  I  love  to  be  like  her, 
In  confidence  and  trust  that  heavenly  care 

Is  never  measured  to  God's  older  children 
Because  of  many  words  put  into  prayer. 

And,  O,  how  much  is  gained  in  feeling  this, — 

Our  broken  sentences  are  often  best, 
If  we  can  say  in   tones  of  sweet  submission, 

"  I  cannot  say  it  all,  '  He  knows  the  rest.' " 

63 


L 


THE  COUNTRY  PREACHER. 


jig  CHANCED  one  day  along  life's  road 
jKj     To  join  a  man  whose  bearing  showed 
That  he  was  thoughtful ;  and  I  said — 
Swinging  a  careless  glance  o'erhead, 
Wishing  to  hear  the  traveller  talk 
And  to  beguile  awhile  my  walk ; 
This  day  is  fine,  sir  !  and  the  sky — 
Indeed,  all  days  are  fine  !  was  his  reply ; 
The  sun  may  shine  or  not,, there  is  a  light 
To  make  our  mental  sky  serenely  bright, 
And  I  have  learned  whatever  ill  betide 
To  train  my  eye  of  faith  to  watch  one  Guide — 
With  Christ  our  Light  and  Leader,  need  we  wait 
For  all  of  heaven  beyond  times  outer  gate  ? 

Thou  art  a  gospel  preacher  I  perceive — 

I  then  remarked  :  and  surely  I  believe 

In  preaching,  but  have  often  thought 

Too  many  men  in  haste  the  call  have  sought, 

And  never  heard  it ;  yet,  would  go 

For  selfish  ends  without  the  woe. 

Albeit  thus  !  he  looked  at  me  and  spake — 
I'll  tell  in  short  to  thee,  the  view  I  take  ; 
Two  worlds  are  mapped  upon  the  sacred  page, 
This  one  of  time,  and  an  eternal  age ; 
Here,  is  the  ruined  state,  there  the  repaired — 
And  the  conditions,  if  that  may  be  shared 
Are  these  ;  a  gate  called  strait  opens  the  way 
From  what  is  here,  out  to  an  endless  day — 

<4 


THE  COUNTRY   PREACHER  65 

Found  by  submission  o'er  its  entrance  stair, 

And  swung  to  kneelers  at  the  knock  of  prayer  : 

Once  wholly  through  this  self-denying  pass, 

This  earth's  gay  glory  seems  like  fading  grass  ; 

And  visions  of  a  better  state  arise 

To  lure  impatient  feet,  and  charm  the  eyes  : 

Then  all  the  heart  is  eloquent  with  speech 

Beseeching  every  foot  astray  to  reach 

This  way  of  life ;  and  whoso  feels  for  all 

Such  great   solicitude,  receives  a  call : 

And  Such  will  preach,  bearing  reproach,  and  shame — 

If  heaped  upon  them  for  their  Master's  name, 

And  Such  will  preach  !  walking  with  weary  feet 

To  find  the  few  with  ears  for  news  so  sweet — 

And  Such  will  preach  for  naught — if  naught  be  given, 

Looking  for  stipend  from  the  store  of  heaven. 

Well,  we  agree  in  this  !  I  said, 
Nor  would  I  hear  a  longer  thread, 
For  I  was  sure  the  man  would  teach 
That,  though  all  in  a  sense  may  preach- 
Yet,  differing  gifts  were  given  to  all, 
Aswriteth  us  the  great  Saint  Paul. 
And  ;  I  was  curious  quite  to  hear 
His  views  told  of  that  other  sphere  ; 
Thinking  of  what  he  had  declared 
About  the  ruined  state  repaired — 
And  so  I  spake,  good  preacher,  come  ! 
What  think  you  of  our  future  home  ? 

I  am  most  happy  that  to  thee  to  tell — 

He  smiling  answered,  since  it  pleaseth  well ! 


POEMS 

Jl  Blissful 

I  sat  me  down  to  muse  one  weary  day, 

And  soon  in  thought  was  wandering  far  away. 

Before  me  rose  a  shining,  narrow  gate  ; 

It  swung,  and  lo  !  a  saintly  form  did  wait 

Within  for  me.     Amazed  I  saw  him  stand 

And  stretch  his  own  to  grasp  my  mortal  hand. 

"Come  unto  me,"  he  said,  "  earth- weary  child, 

And  I  will  teach  thee ;  "  and  so  sweetly  smiled 

That  all  my  fears  were  fled,  and  by  his  side 

I  held  his  hand — my  more  than  mortal  guide, — 

And  he  was  speaking  as  he  led  me  forth  : 

And  first  he  told  me,  "  This  is  God's  new  earth  ;  " 

And  I  had  guessed  it,  though  my  searching  eyes 

Had  swept  but  once  the  landscape  and  the  skies. 

For  at  my  feet  the  soil  seemed  new  and  clean, 

And  all  the  grass  grew  thickly  fresh  and  green, 

Which  all  among  were  flowers  of  every  hue, 

And  bursting  buds  just  pu  Skiing  into  view; 

And  trees,  and  vines,  and  all  I  saw  below 

Seemed  beautiful  as  God  could  make  them  grow. 

And  I  was  thinking  of  a  sacred  verse, 

When  he  who  led  me,  spake  it :  "  No  more  curse — 

And  I  was  listening  as  we  passed  along, 

To  catch  the  floating  snatches  of  a  song  ; 

Till  coming  nearer,  thus  I  caught  the  strain, 

"Worthy  the  Lamb  that  once  for  us  was  slain," 

I  gazed  entranced,  for  mighty  hosts  were  singing, 

And  golden  harps  with  richest  tones  were  ringing, 


THE    COUNTRY    PREACHER  67 

As  now  the  glad  refrain  came  pouring  forth  : 

"  For  us,  and  we  shall  reign  upon  the  earth  !  " 

What  beams  of  glory  danced  on  every  brow 

And  every  cheek  wore  health  and  beauty  now. 

"And  is  disease  a  stranger  here?  "  I  asked,  full  fain, 

My  guide  responding  answered,  "  No  more  pain." 

He  brought  me,  and  we  wandered  long  beside 

A  flowing  river,  deep,  and  clear,  and  wide, 

Till  high  on  either  bank,  a  branching  wood 

Kissing  the  sky  in  awful  grandeur,  stood 

With  monthly  fruitage  full.     "Life's  trees,"  he  saith, 

And  then  kept  on  repeating,  "No  more  death." 

My  eyes  were  chained  intent,  till  when  my  guide 

Bade  me  look  farther  back,  on  either  side, 

And  lo  !  a  city — but  with  mortal  tongue, 

I  stop  and  leave  its  glories  all  unsung. 

And  now  such  radiant  light  around  was  shining 

Methought  ourselves  beyond  the  day's  declining  ; 

For  wave  on  wave  the  city  flashed  afar, 

Its  dazzling  splendor  like  a  burning  star. 

And  he  who  led  me,  read  my  thoughts  aright, 

And  spake  them  shortly,  saying,  "No  more  night." 

What !  "No  more  curse,  nor  pain,  nor  death, nor  night?" 

Bright  vision  of  a  world,  surpassing  bright ! 

"  And  can  it  be  that  things  will  always  stay 

As  beautiful  and  glorious,  as  they  seem  to-day?" 

I  said,  as  coming  to  the  shining  gate 

My  guide  still  holding  me,  content  to  wait. 

"Always,"  he  said,  "the  nature  of  this  clime 

Is  one  bright,  balmy,  constant  summer  time." 


68  POEMS 

To  me  your  notions,  preacher  friend,  are  new  ! 

And  lack  not  beauty,  were  they  only  true 

I  said  ;  but,  things  of  heaven  sublime 

Bear  no  resemblance  to  the  things  of  time  : 

You  have  a  show  of  truth  I  fully  own, 

But  truths  like  this,  if  true  were  longer  known. 

I  know  that  age  gives  value  much  to  truth  ! 
Yet ;  what  you  deem  untrue  because  of  youth — 
He  urged,  the  Seers  of  old  did  help  unfold 
In  theory,  every  phase  my  tongue  hath  told ; 
Isaiah  sees  through  centuries  afar ; 
The  rending  Heavens  reveal  God's  flaming  car — 
And  mountains  that  the  ages  have  withstood 
Bow  at  his  presence  in  a  rolling  flood  ; 
While  nations  adverse  to  his  heard  of  fame, 
Tremble  at  the  revealments  of  his  name  ; 
And,  he  beholds  him  with  restoring  hand 
Lift  the  dark  veil  that  mantles  all  the  land, — 
Break,  Death's  dominion,  seize  at  once  the  prey, 
And  from  all  faces  wipe  the  tears  away — 
Bringing  to  all  his  people  instant  mirth — 
Speaking  rebuke  at  once  from  off  the  earth  ; 
When  shouts  aloud  arise  with  one  accord 
From  those  who  waited  long — "This  is  the  Lord  ;  " 
Now  praise  resounds  from  every  tribe  and  nation 
"We  will  be  glad,"  and  "  Joy  in  his  Salvation." 

And,  hark  !  with  Heaven-touched-lips  he  sings  again 
Of  restitution  in  enrapturing  strain  ; 
A  "  Branch  "  that  upward  sprang  from  "  Jesse's  root," 
Fills  all  the  world  with  Heaven  appointed  fruit— 


THE   COUNTRY  PREACHER 

Being  wise  to  judge  with  righteousness,  and  might, 
He  knoweth  whom  to  save,  and  whom  to  smite ; 
And  how  to  make  the  winds  of  trouble  cease — 
And  bring  to  earth  the  eternal  calm  of  peace, 
Making  one  fold  the  wolf,  and  lamb  to  share 
With  safety,  and  contentment  dwelling  there. 

You  have  a  picture  charming  sweet,  indeed  ! 
I  interrupted,  but  we  clearly  read 
"Eye  hath  not  seen  " — you  know  the  Apostle's  word- 
The  things  prepared  for  these  who  love  the  Lord." 

I  paused,  and  he  began  again  to  speak — 
His  voice  attuned,  and  every  feature  meek ; 
No  human  eye,  I  know,  the  land  hath  seen 
Through  all  the  shadowy  mists  that  rise  between — 
But,  holy  men  of  old,  as  men  of  faith 
Hearing,  and  writing  what  the  spirit  saith, 
Knew  of  that  land,  and  of  its  parts  may  tell 
As  though  the  things  in  fact  to  eye-sight  fell ; 
Go  read  Saint  Paul  that  early  preacher  bold — 
As  I  have  learned  from  him  this  truth  I  hold 
That  faith  gives  substance  to  the  hoped  for  things, 
And  what  hath  not  been  seen  in  promise  brings ; 
What  worthy  names  he  sites,  with  strong  desire 
Looking  through  years  of  pain  with  eyes  of  fire 
To  see  a  country  heavenly  in  its  make — 
A  city  too  no  storms  can  reach  to  shake  : 
These  died  in  faith — the  substance  had  not  come, 
But  rising  they  shall  greet  the  eternal  home — 
What  real,  and  not  a  spirit  land 
I  said,  sir,  would  you  have  me  understand  ? 


70  POEMS 

And,  do  you  hold  we  get  this  prize 

Below,  and  not  above  the  skies  ? 

If  so,  can  Peter's  words  be  true  ? 

He  says — "  reserved  in  Heaven  for  you." 

And  more1  than  this,  I  know  !  the  good  man  said, 

For  he  had  caught  my  text,  and  quickly  read — 

Closing  the  sentence  with  his  voice  sublime, 

"Ready  to  be  revealed  in  the  last  time" — 

"  Reserved  in  heaven  "  with  Christ  all  life  is  hid 

Till  he  shall  come  to  lift  each  grave's  low  lid — 

" Reserved  in  heaven"  our  blood  bought  title  claim 

Laid  on  the  records  in  our  Lawyer's  name — 

"Reserved  in  heaven"  the  "house  not  made  with  hands," 

Where  earth's  "born  king  "  as  priest  our  surety  stands  ; 

But,  lo  !  that  life  is  yet  to  be  poured  forth 

Through  all  the  sainted  dead  of  sea  and  earth  ; 

That  city  built  age-lasting  in  renown 

To  grace  the  world -wide  kingdom  shall  come  down 

And  he  who  entered  heaven  our  priest  alone ; 

Shall  plant  to  reign  on  earth  his  kingly  throne. 

Once  more  hear  Paul — "When  Christ  delivers  up 

His  priestly  rule,  and  Mercy's  day  shall  stop — 

The  rebel  army  as  the  last  of  all 

Shall  rise  before  his  victor  sword  to  fall ; 

Satan  to  lead  the  fray,  yet  doth  he  know 

His  time  has  come,  at  war  with  such  a  foe  : 

Now,  Death  may  riot  still  a  little  while — 

Yet,  soon  above  Death's  death  shall  triumph  smile  $ 

For,  Death  by  death  to  death  once  brought 

Him  who  arose  all  death  to  bring  to  naught : 


THE   COUNTRY   PREACHER 

Rebellion  now  is  crushed,  God's  earth-born  son 

Lets  fly  the  flag  of  peace  for  victories  won — 

Gives  back  the  kingdom  from  the  usurper  took 

With  heavenly  satisfaction  in  his  look. 

To  make  the  heart  a  little  longer  sing, 

I  will  his  words  sent  to  the  Romans  bring — 

"  If  Children  heirs  ;  "  He  here  with  glowing  speech 

Both  of  the  tenure,  and  estate  doth- teach. 

Across  the  present  age  his  prophet- eye 

Counts  up  the  sufferings  that  are  far  and  nigh, 

To  reckon  them  all  told,  as  nothing  worth 

When  set  against  the  joy  that  comes  to  earth  : 

Creation's  throbbing  heart  burdened  with  pain 

He  makes  expectant — great  relief  to  gain  ; 

Her  heavy  years  of  travail,  sin,  and  grief — 

He  sends  away  with  thoughts  of  sweet  relief, 

And  all  exultant  brings  the  birthday  on 

Of  what  is  only  good,  with  evil  gone  ; 

He  sees  Death's  door  unclose  with  Christ's  strong  key, 

And  all  the  "  sons  of  God  "  alive  go  free  : 

Thus  all  the  earth  which  did  man's  evil  share 

Groaning  with  him,  and  for  him  mourning  wear 

Exults  in  blest  emancipation  now 

Casting  the  sackcloth  from  her  aged  brow  : 

Her  robes  of  youth  are  ready — Jesus  stands 

With  garments  all  perennial  in  his  hands  ; 

And  every  waste,  and  every  dreary  glade 

Where  sin  hath  been,  and  where  the  dead  were  laid, 

Have  flowers,  and  fruit  as  fair  as  Heaven  can  strew 

For  man  by  Heaven  redeemed  on  earth  made  new. 


HOPE'S  VISION. 

!  look  to  the  East,'  the  day-sky  is  breaking/ 
The  bright  herald-star  is  enticing  the  morn  ; 
low  swiftly,  and  surely  Creation  is 'waking, 
To  lift  up  the  shout,  "  A  new  era  is  born  ! " 

So  long  hath  the  darkness1  o'ershaded  our  Eden, 
The  flowers  are  stunted,  and  sickly  withal ; 

Ah,  the  death-dews,  with  which  they  so  heavy  are  laden, 
Snatch*  sweetness,  and  beauty,  and  leave^them  to  fall. 

Man  gropes  o'er  his  pathway,  well  used  to  the  shadows ; 

Now,  wearily  nodding,  and  stumbling  along ; 
Thorn-torn  are  his  feet,  and  in  reaping  Earth's  meadows, 

The  pain  of  the  thistle  oft  hushes  his  song. 

Crime  stalketh  red -handed,  and  wasting  diseases, 
To  mock  at  stern  Justice,  and  Mercy's  soft  plea  ; 

Earth's  dauntless  usurper  rides  forth  as  he  pleases, 
Hot  tears  are  his  nectar,  sad  wailings  his  glee. 

We  can  reckon  on  nothing — on  no  one  around  us, 
To  break  the  strong  fetters,  and  free  us  from  wrong  ; 

But  One  out  of  heaven  hath  sought  us  and  found  us, 
With  a  heart  full  of  pity,  and  a  hand  that  was  strong. 

He  went  through  the  clouds,  but  hath  left  us  his  pledges 
That  what  he  began  he  will  finish  sometime ; 

He  hath  promised  us  life  through  the  ages  of  ages ; 
He  hath  promised  a  kingdom,  eternal,  sublime. 

72 


73 

He  can  speak  to  the  dust,  and  the  saints  will  awaken  ; 

He  can  kindle  the  fires  to  consume  earth's  alloy; 
He  will  fix  here  his  throne,  to  continue  unshaken, 

He  willfling  over  earth  all  the  causes  of  joy. 

Come,  day  of  His  presence,  and  sweet  resurrection  ! 

Come,  throne,  the  grand  centre  of  earth, — now  a  waste  ; 
Come,  verdure,  and  flowers,  and  trees  in  perfection, 

Come  all  that  is  for  us, — we  cry  in  our  haste. 


4 1  SAY  UNTO  ALL,  WATCH." 
(JESUS. 

[S  long,  so  long  to  wait  for  morning, 

And  keep  awake  when  night  is  dark — 
fet,  we  must  watch  to  heed  the  warning ; 
And  for  the  trump  of  day- dawn  hark. 

We  sweetly  know  that  night  is  ending  ; 

Yea,  the  last  hour  is  on  the  sky, 
That  the  pledge -star  is  fast  ascending, 

Of  morning,  for  the  heart  and  eye. 

What  morning  is  it  ?    Men  are  asking  j 
Ah  !  one  that  keeps  the  soul  awake, 

In  anxious  waiting  to  be  basking 

In  sunbeams  that  shall  o'er  us  break  : 


i 


74  POEMS 

Morning  of  life,  that  finds  the  sleeping, 
Who  could  not  keep  awake  from  death, 

Light  into  darkest  places  creeping, 
And  with  the  light,  immortal  breath. 

So,  morn  of  meeting,  O,  surprising  ! 

With  all  above  and  all  below  ; 
Glory  descending,  gladness  rising, — 

Who  would  not  watch  to  catch  the  glow  ? 

Earth,  thou  art  waiting' for  this  gladness, 
As  all  the  good,  alive,  or  dead  ! 

The  night  is  fleeting  with  its  sadness, 
So,  Heaven  waits  all  joy  to  spread. 


THE  WATCHER. 

HETWEEN  two  worlds  with  patient  heart  he  waited, 

A  watcher  who  had  known  both  light  and  shade ; 
Upon  whose  ear  far  sounds  had  undulated, 
As  if,  the  songs  had-  been  by  angels  made. 

And  I  half  read,  by  close  discriminntion, 

His  very  nature  in  his  saintly  face ; 
Knew  well,  before  his  lips  made  exclamation, 

That  he  had  somehow  known  a  holier  place. 

And  thus  he  spake,  to  tell  with  words  so  tender, 
In  varied  thought  of  what  his  soul  had  known 

In  times  when  he  to  sorrow  did  surrender ; 
Of  times  when  grief  by  joy  was  overthrown. 


THE  WATCHER  75 

"The  burden  to  my  heart  by  sorrow  lifted, 

Have  pressed  from  pain's  ripe  clusters  wine  that  cheers ; 
And  my  poor  eyes,  by  chasms  death  has  rifted, 

Are  cleaner  for  the  washings  of  their  tears. 

My  feet  have  ached  along  the  rugged  going, 

But,  this  is  solace  as  I  hither  come, 
That  after  all  the  wand'rings  they  are  knowing, 

The  feet  that  stumble  here,  shall  bring  me  home. 

Above  earth's  babble,  now  the  charm  of  voices 
I  hear  in  night-time,  and  at  sunny  morn  ; 

My  spirit  knows  them  from  all  other  noises, 

And  feels  the  hand  with  these  that  leads  me  on. 

And  so  I  watch  to  hear^the  high  gate  swinging; 

To  see  the  clouds  roll  off  that  make  earth's  woe  ; 
Waiting  in  joy  even  now  the  glad  home- bringing j 

Of  what  is  worthy  from  the,dark  below." 

With  such  a  watcher  be  my  soul  united, 

To  bear  time's  ills  with  pleasure,  till  the  day 

The  King  shall  have  his  banquet  hall  well  lighted 
For  mortals  fitted  for  an  endless  stay. 


JUST  BEFORE. 

5UST  before — in  my  heart  I  am  hearing 

All  the  time  these  two  sweet  words. 
Though  it  be  dark  in  the  skies  outspreading, 
Though  it  be  dark  round  the  path  I  am  treading, 
Cometh  this  thought  while  tears  I  am  shedding, 
Just  before,  like  the  song  of  birds. 

Born  of  hope  were  the  twins  of  beauty, 

To  cheer  the  soul  in  a  world  like  this ; 

Just  behind  there  was  sore  disaster, 

Doubt  claimed  by  force  to  be  my  master  ; 

Then,  over  and  over,  faster  and  faster, 

Came,  just  before  is  the  goal  of  bliss. 

Sometimes,  it  is  true,  there  are  moods  of  fearing 
That  we  may  be  led  by  a  phantom  light ; 

But,  the  past  is  dead,  there  is  no  denying, 

And  the  present  lieth  around  us  dying ; 

To  all  we  may  ask,  comes  this  replying, 
Just  before  are  days  more  bright. 

This  bow  ofpromise  is  ever  shining — 

We  keep  our  eyes  where  the  ends  touch  down  ; 
As  the  years  sweep  past  with  their  store  of  sorrow, 
And  the  graves  grow  thick  with  each  sad  to-morrow ; 
So,  out  of  the  rainbow  light,  we  borrow 

This  joy,  that  just  before  is  the  crown. 

76 


NEAR  HOME'S  GATE  77 

Ay,  just  before,  all  the  lights  of  heaven 

To  shine  on  the  eyes  of  the  saintly  host ; 

While  mortal  life  but  a  span,  will  be  ending, 

Joy-morning  breaks  with  the  Christ  descending, 

And  all  his  gl  jry  to  earth  he  is  lending ; 
Just  before  !  we  are  there  almost. 


NEAR  HOME'S  GATE. 

SONNET. 

the  worn  traveller  near  his  own  abode, 
When  evening  shades  have  fallen  on  his  way, 
Arid  the  light  glimmers  where  his  dear  ones  stay, 
Forgets  by  half  the  long  and  toilsome  road 
For  the  home-joy  so  soon  to  be  bestowed 
By  shining  faces,  and  the  voices  sweet 
Mixed  with  the  music  of  the  pattering  feet 
To  roll  away  entire,  care's  heavy  load — 
So,  up  through  life's  great  dark  I  tired  come, 
And  things  familiar  grow,  as  seers  have  told — 
We  must  be  near  I  know  the  outer  gate 
That  leads  us  closely  to  the  halls  of  home; 
O,  can  I  bear  the  joy,  when  friends  of  old 
Shall  meet  me  gladly  as1  the  ones  that  wait  ? 


HOMESICK. 

y,  YfOT  f®T  szi  earthly  home  my  fever  rages  — 


Though  earthly  homes  are  sweet, 
Yet  they  are  built  not  for  eternal  ages, 

With  all  their  parts  complete, 
As  that  one  is  for  which  my  heart  is  aching  ; 

For  long  ago  I  heard 
Descriptive  strains  —  prophetic  echoes  breaking, 

And  all  my  soul  was  stirred. 

I  know  it  must  be  grand  where  Christ  prepareth 

The  many-mansioned  home  ; 
All-powerful,  his  hand  no  effort  spareth 

Till  he  shall  bid  us  come. 
How  shine  the  towers  and  domes  of  that  new  dwelling, 

In  the  high  noon  of  heaven  ; 
What  radiant  walks  —  what  songs  triumphant  swelling  — 

What  welcomes  there  are  given  ! 

Behold  the  parks  angelic  hands  have  planted  — 

Such  wondrous  trees  and  flowers  ! 
Ah,  how  at  times  my  earthworn  soul  hath  panted 

To  tread  those  peaceful  bowers, 
Through  which  may  sift  in  sprays  the  golden  sunbeams 

Of  endless  summer-time, 
Not  now  with  scorching  heat  or  dazzling  light-gleams, 

But  cheering,  soft,  sublime. 

78 


HOMESICK  79 

A«d  far  away,  what  hills  of  green  are  lifting, 

Vine-clad  and  glory-crowned  ; 
Infolding  vales  where  seas  of  song  are  drifting, 

The  ceaseless  ages  round. 
These  gentle  slopes  may  be  the  blessed  places 

\Vhere  we  shall  meet  again 
The  kindly  glance  of  old  familiar  faces, 

And  link  anew  love's  chain. 

Ah,  vanished  ones,  how  much  to-day  I  miss  them ; 

And  tell  me  not,  for  true, 
I  may  not  know  the  dear  ones  there,  and  kiss  them  j 

As  when  we  bade  adieu. 
But  I  would  hold  His  feet  with  sweetest  pleasure, 

Who  bought  so  much  for  me, 
And  He  will  be,  I  know,  my  choicest  treasure, 

Where  all  my  treasures  be. 


THE  "BETTER  COUNTRY." 

KRE'S  a  country  untried  by  our  homesick  souls, 
Where  unending  joy  through  all  places  rolls; 

With  its  city  from  heaven,  of  the  golden  street 

Untrodden  as  yet  by  a  pilgrim's  feet — 

Thither  we  peer  through  the  misty  air, 

As  we  muse  and  long  for  the  glories  there. 

O'er  the  land  which  cometh  just  after  this, 
With  its  every  scene  all  aglow  with  bliss, 


80  POEMS 

We  are  sure,  that  no  sorrow  shall  ever  roll 
Like  a  bursting  cloud  to  o'erflood  the  soul, 
For  the  cause  of  all  sorrow  and  ruin — sin, 
Shall  have  no  tenure  this  world  within. 


With  evil  ended,  the  thought  of  pain 
And  death  is  unknown  in  the  glad  domain ; 
So  smiles  that  faded  through  sickness  sore, 
Relight  the  brow  to  depart  no  more  ; 
And  songs  that  died  with  the  failing  breath, 
Are  heard  in  a  fulness  that  mocks  at  death. 


And  the  eye  that  wistfully  said  good  bye, 
Will  flash  with  a  rapture  no  grief  can  try, 
For  friendship's  links  are  re-knit  anew, 
With  never  a  thought  of  a  long  adieu  ; 
Wrinkled  age  from  this  home  is  gone, 
Yet  the  old-time  faces  are  looked  upon. 

O,  the  children  that  went  with  their  blighted  charms, 
Are  back  from  their  graves  to  our  thrilling  arms ; 
And  every  foot  that  was  bent  to  roam, 
And  every  heart  that  sighed  for  this  home, 
Time's  journey  ended,  the  graveyard  past — 
Find  its  perfection  and  gladness  at  last. 


TIME'S  WAY. 

)W  high  ye  look,  ye  mountains  that  arise 

Beneath  the  frowning  clouds  of  angry  skies ; 
How  deep  the  vales  between ;  and  must  we  go 
Up  all  these  heights,  and  through  the  depths  below? 
Is  there  no  other  way 
Out  to  eternal  day  ? 

O  Time,  with  such  a  measure  of  our  ills, 
Or  great  or  small  our  mountain  steeps  and  hills  ; 
O  Time,  thy  vales  are  where  our  dear  ones  sleep, 
And  shadows  hang  above  us  while  we  weep. 

There  is  no  other  way 

Out  to  eternal  day. 

But  in  the  vales  we  muse  of  what  shall  be 
Beyond  the  hills  that  all  around  we  see ; 
And  on  the  heights  we  sometimes  seem  to  view 
The  river  that  divides  the  worlds  in  two  ; 

And  then  we  joyful  say, 

We  are  far  along  the  way. 

And  since  we  know  so  much,  we  well  can  wait 
Making  our  journey  with  its  sorrows  great ; 
The  compensation  of  the  nearing  lands 
Will  make  us  swing  for  joy  these  heavy  hands, 
As  from  the  stormy  past 
We  shout,  "  Safe  home  at  last ! " 


AT  FIRST— AT  LAST. 

'•AYE  this  poor  life  with  its  allotted  ills 
j|     Mixed  all  the  way,  though  long  or  short  it  be ; 
And  then  a  glance  at  sunset  o'er  the  hills — 
And  then  to  sleep  in  earth  so  quietly, 

Till,  in  the  ear  of  death  a  voice  shall  call, 

Rousing  the  sleepers  of  the  ages  up  ; 
Grand  gathering  of  the  good,  or  great  or  small, 

To  one  bright  home  so  long  the  goal  of  hope. 

At  first,  to  strew  our  tear-drops  all  along, 
Crying  like  children  plagued  in  many  ways  ; 

At  last,  to  laugh  with  joy,  and  strike  a  song 
That  grows  not  old  in  all  the  eternal  days. 

At  first,  to  toil  and  sweat  on  rugged  lands, 
Fighting  the  curse  that  came  for  primal  sin ; 

At  last,  to  wash  from  work  our  blistered  hands — 
The  rest  that  never  endeth  to  begin. 

At  first,  to  live  by  faith,  perplexed  with  doubt, 
As  taunting  lips  ask,  "Where  is  all  your  joy?" 

At  last,  to  have  the  kingdom  come  about 

Where  faith  and  hope  we  need  no  more  employ. 

At  first,  such  longings  to  behold  the  friend 
Who  doeth  everything  that  shall  be  done  ; 

At  last,  to  see  his  once  pierced  hands  extend 
A  welcome  to  the  wealth  himself  hath  won. 

83 


THE   END   OF   YEARS  83 

The  first  of  time's  long  night  is  past  afar, 
And  morning,  flushes  all  the  hill- tops  high  ; 

The  sweet  at  last — looking  from  where  we  are — 
With  all  its  promised  glory  cometh  nigh. 

Wipe  up  your  tears,  ye  weary-hearted  ones, 
As  home -sick  children  do  returning  home  ; 

Ye  are  our  Heavenly  Father's  daughters,  sons  ; 
Wipe  up  your  tears  to  sing — the  at  last  has  come. 


1801. 


THE  END  OF  YEARS. 

night  winds  blow  above  the  hills — 
We  hear  them  rave  the  trees  among, 
And  shivering  wait  with  winter's  chills 

To  see  the  moon's  long  shadows  flung 
Athwart  the  street — now  let  us  go 
Murmuring  the  thoughts  that  haunt  us  so. 

Death  lurks  with  ready  aim  to  slay 
The  dear  old  year,  so  like  a  friend  ! 

How  solemn  watching  hours  away, 
Well  knowing  such  is  near  the  end  ! 

And  musing  thus,  who  can  restore 

What  must  go  by  to  come  no  more  ? 

Yet,  suns  will  rise  and  set,  is  true, 

Our  moon  and  stars  be  just  as  bright ; 

The  old  year's  ways  come  in  the  new — 
Still,  this  sad  thought  comes  with  the  flight 


POEMS 

Of  an  old  friend  back  to  a  grave, 
From  which  no  hand  has  power  .to  save. 

Hope  turns  however  from  the  gloom, 
And  whispers  to  the  heart,  be  glad  ! 

From  off  the  surface  of  the  tomb 

She  strips  the  weeds  that  make  us  sad, 

And  cries,  look  yonder,  flowers  will  grow 

More  beautiful  than  long  ago  ! 

All  years  of  time  alike  will  die  ; 

Prepare  for  this  your  funeral  tears, 
Ye  men  of  earth — We  heave  no  sigh 

At  thought  of  what  beyond  appears ; 
New  life,  new  joys,  yea,  all  things  new, 
With  heaven  and  earth  no  longer  two. 


A  BOAT  ADRIFT. 

Imaginings  upon  an  incident  taken  from  an  old  log-book. 

AIMLESSLY  there  was  drifting 
A  boat  on  the  open  sea 

dch  the  lazy  waves  kept  lifting, 

And  rocking  all  carelessly, 
Till  a  ship's  crew  it  espying 

Bore  down  on  the  silent  thing, 
Each  sailor  eagerly  eyeing 

To  see  if  it  ought  might  bring  ; 
Horrors  !  three  men  are  sailing 

Dead,  at  the  will  of  the  breeze, 
One  more  upright  near  the  railing— 


A   BOAT  ADRIET  85 

All  shrunken  and  wasted  these : 
In  the  pocket  of  him  who  is  sitting, 

Letters  of  love-words  are  found ; 
Mother  and  wife  ne'er  forgetting 

The  dear  ones  so  far  away  bound— 
"I  kissed  you  good  bye,"  wrote  the  mother; 

"  But  why  did  you  sail  thus  away  ? 
Your  object  was  gain  for  another, 

Yet,  we  had  enough  did  you  stay — 
The  homestead  together  owning, 

And  I  had  a  son  true  and  mild — 
Besides,  you  have  left  in  long  moaning 

Your  beautiful  wife,  and  your  child. 
We  remember  your  promise  made  though, 

That  after  this  voyage  is  o'er, 
And  you  come  from  your  Eldorado 

You  are  not  to  go  back  any  more. 
Remember  how  mother  is  missing 

Long,  her  only,  only  son — 
That  her  tears  are  this  paper  kissing — 

The  lines  that  she  writes  one  by  one." 

Unfolding  the  other  letter, 

Was  a  scrap  from  a  baby-hand — 
Helped  by  her  mamma,  that  better 

The  papa  could  understand  ; 
"  We  want  you  all  our  papa  dear  ! 

You  never  must  stay  so  long — 
Grandma,  and  mamma,  and  I  are  here 

Loving  you  ever  so  strong." 


86  POEMS 

Then  the  longest  saddest  writing 

From  a  dear  wife's  lonesome  heart, 
Which  to  his  were  years  uniting — 

Now  by  months  but  kept  apart ; 
She  is  telling  how  dreams  come  thronging 

Of  his  bronzed  and  care-worn  face — 
Of  the  wild  and  restless  longing 

Of  her  heart  in  every  place  ; 
How  she  wanders  his  pathways  over, 

And  leans  to  the  work.of  his  hands, 

To  pour  down  her  tears  for  the  lover 

Far  away  o'er  the  South  stretching  lands ; 
How  up  at  his  picture  she  gazes, 

Then  over  and  over  anew 
What  kisses  on  baby  she  places, 

For  myself  they  are  given,  and  you. 
Now  comfort  drops  into  her  grieving 

That  the  day  will  arrive  for  return. 
And  you  the  far  shores  will  be  leaving 

When  our  fires  at  Christmas  shall  burn ; 
So,  I  will  forget  half  my  sorrow 

As  I  look   toward  the  South — and  be  gay, 
And  sing  to  our  sweet  girl  to-morrow 

As  I  tell  her  you  come  from  that  way. 
Next  Christmas  you  turn  round  to  meet  us, 

Our  faces  will  turn  to  meet  you  ; 
When  the  lark  sings  in  spring  you  will  greet  us, 

And  the  birds  in  the  elms  at  Broadview. 
God  keep  you  dear  Henry  we  pray 

From  hunger,  and  ship-wreck  and  harm — 


GONE  8  7 

As  the  months  shall  be  wearing  away 
I  will  try  to  grow  braver  and  calm. 

How  sad  must  this  burial  be 

As  the  boat  was  towed  near  to  the  land, 
And  under  an  African  tree 

The  sod  was  turned  up  by  this  band ; 
One  grave  for  the  sailors  they  made — 

And  one  for  the  master  alone 
From  whose  pockets  the  letters  were  read, 

Whose  words  in  our  hearts  were  a  moan. 
They  chiseled  a  slab  for  the  stranger 

With  his  name  from  the  letters — that's  all, 
And  left  him  in  care  of  the  angels, 

With  a  cloud  for  a  funeral  pall : 
Not  tearless  to  go  to  their  places, 

While  the  mother,  and  wife  in  their  tears 
Wait  in  vain  for  their  Henry's  embraces 

Till  they  meet  in  the  unwasting  years. 

GONE. 

[HERE  is  many  a  thought  in  story  and  song, 
That  maketh  the  heart — my  heart  forlorn  : 
But  never  a  word  or  short,  or  long 
Around  which  olden  memories  throng, 
Hath  a  sadder  sound  than  gone. 

It  meaneth  this — there  are  voices  hushed, 

And  faces  hid  that  were  bright  as  morn — 
That  hopes  which  grew  in  the  heart  were  crushed 
As  some  dreadful  days  behind  us  rushed, 
And  a  treasure  with  them  was  gone. 


88  POEMS 

There  are  vacancies  we  can  hardly  bear, 
-They  bleed  the  life  of  our  souls  away  ; 
Here  an  empty  room,  and  an  empty  chair 
Where  we  owned  our  own  with  our  love  and  care, 
But  alas  !  they  could  not  stay  ! 

The  roads  are  not  the  roads  they  were — 

Nor  the  open  door  with  its  grassy  lawn ; 
There  were  feet  there  once  with  life  astir, 
Now,  we  look  in  vain  for  him,  or  her — 
While  the  heart  keeps  whispering,  gone  ! 

Gone  !  so  it  must  be — we  too  shall  go, 

As  the  ways  of  the  world  take  souls  apart — 
And  hope  hath  the  only  balm  we  know, 
That  somewhere  beyond  these  paths  below 
There  will  be  a  relinking  of  heart. 

At  Home,  April  1,  18? 


GRIEF. 

•RIEF  came  and  sat  within  our  door, 
We  did  not  wish  her  long  to  stay ; 
She  fixed  her  sad  eyes  on  the  floor, 
And  gave  no  sign  to  go  away. 

We  thought  to  treat  her  cold  and  rude — 
We  could  not  love  her  in  our  home — 

She  seemed  to  like  our  solitude, 

And  followed  us  from  room  to  roo*». 


GRIEF  89 

She  kept  all  quiet,  night  and  day, 

'Twas  well,  for  we  had  sickness  there  ; 

She  bowed  with  us  while  down  to  pray, 
And  mingled  with  us  in  our  prayer ; 

And  yet,  we  prayed  she  might  depart — 
We  longed  to  sing  her  from  the  door 

And  have  joy  gladden  up  the  heart ; 
But  day  by  day,  she  clung  the  more. 

She  had  her  tears  for  every  pain — 

Her  wakeful  watching  hours  as  well — 

She  knew  our  love  was  being  slain, 
And  when  each  hope  within  us  fell. 

At  last,  our  broken  idol  lay 

Beyond  the  help  of  human  care  ; 
Then,  we  were  willing  grief  should  stay — 

We  could  but  want  to  keep  her  there. 

And  now,  though  little  years  have  fled 
Since  grief  kept  with  us  many  a  day ; 

She  walks  with  us  above  our  dead, 
Nor,  would  we  challenge  her  away. 


BENNIE  D. 

|HO  whittled  your  chair  so  dear  lady? 

Some  rogue  it  must  surely  have  been— 
And  you  keep  it  I  see  in  the  parlor 
For  the  notice  of  all  that  come  in  : 

Bennie  D.,  and  how  rude  are  the  letters 
On  the  back  of  a  nice  cushioned  chair ; 

Say,  why  does  it  stand  in  the  parlor, 
Are  there  reasons  for  having  it  there  ? 

How  I  pitied  the  face  of  the  mother 
As  my  questions  to  answer  she  came, 

And  with  quivering   lips  slowly  uttered 
The  badly  cut  half  whittled  name  ; 

Bennie  D.  was  my  boy  in  this  cottage 
Ten  years  since  that  sadly  have  gone, 

And  here  in  this  room  I  surprised  him 
Leaning  over  that  cushion  one  morn 

With  his  knife  ;  and  she  went  to  the  mantle, 

And  took  from  a  box  with  a  sigh 
The  tool  of  the  rogue,  yet  her  darling 

That  cut  out  the  letters  so  shy. 

Well,  the  chair  went  away  to  the  chamber, 
She  continued — for  months  to  remain, 

And  ah  !  but  for  something  that  happened 
Would  never  have  come  here  again  ; 


CONTRASTS  9! 

But  Bennie  we  took  to  the  graveyard, 

And  before  he  was  carried  away 
His  casket  was  laid  on  that  chair-seat 

With  Bennie  D.  over  his  clay. 

Now,  the  chair  keeps  its  place  in  the  parlor — 

And  the  knife  in  its  little  box  lies — 
While  Bennie  is  out  in  his  grave-bed, 

And  the  tears  stand  a  flood  in  my  eyes. 

So  we  put  Bennie  D.  on  the  head-stone, 
And  Christ  has  his  name  up  in  heaven — 

While  Hope  only  comes  as  our  solace 
Till  he  back  to  our  arms  shall  be  given. 


CONTRASTS. 

[UPS  of  pleasure  we  discover, 

Then  misfortune  tips  them  over. 
Now  we  laugh,  but  frolic  flies, 
And  the  tears  are  in  our  eyes. 
Singing  oft  a  tender  strain 
Only  drowns  a  pang  of  pain. 
Sweetest  love  of  mate  with  mate 
Sometimes  turns  to  bitter  hate. 
Clouds  and  sunshine  strive  together 
Thus,  we  have  our  fickle  weather. 
Oft,  how  oft  the  firmest  breath 
In  a  moment  yields  to  death. 
Living,  dying,  is  the  order 
Of  our  earth  in  every  border. 


93  POEMS 

Winter  kills,  but  spring  arrives 
In  time  to  save  a  myriad  lives : 
Let  the  ice-throned  king  remain 
Nature  would  not  wake  again. 
Earth  has  moved  from  heaven  so  far, 
This  is  why  we're  as  we  are  ; 
Heaven  will  find  the  earth  some  day, 
Then,  every  ill  will  pass  away. 


MARCH. 

|OOK  out  for  March — He  cometh,  and  his  eyes, 

Betray  the  frolic  of  his  changing  skies — 
He  hath  his  store  of  winds  among  the  hills, 
And  other  snows  that  winter  hath  not  spread, 
These  he  will  pile  on  us  from  overhead — 
He  often,  all  the  drifting  places  fills. 

And,  then  he  laughs  to  see  us  in  the  slush, 
Made  by  the  higher  sun,  or  rainy  gush — 
But  let  him  March,  and  fickle  April  too  ; 
We  can  endure  awhile  the  stress  in  hope, 
For  lovely  May  is  here  when  these  are  through, 
And  a  long  pleasant  time  will  seem  to  stop. 


SUMMER  TIME. 

[PRING  puts  on  summer  garb  in  such  a  way 

That  we  who  watch  her  hardly  know  the  day- 
For  all  at  once  the  fact  is  clearly  seen 
Her  flawing  robes  are  of  a  daiker  green  ; 
And  for  a  bud,  the  rose  she  wears  in  bloom — 
Filling  the  air  about  her  with  perfume  : 
And  birds  that  knew  her  not  as  gentle  spring 
Flock  through  the  trees  their  summer  songs  to  sing. 
Now,  rock  the  butterflies  along  her  way 
With  zigzag  flutter  through  the  sunlight  gay — 
The  whippoorwill  begins  his  evening  moan, 
Answered  by  crickets  with  reproving  tone. 
Along  the  river-banks,  and  marshy  way 
The  fire-flies  swing  their  lamps  from  eve  till  day 
A  golden  veil  is  thrown  around  the  sun 
At  early  morn  j  and  when  the  day  is  done 
Softly  the  stars  shine  in  the  twilight  clear, 
And  all  admit  that  summer-time  is  here. 


JUNE. 

|p  THOUGHT  'twas  May  I  loved  the  best, 
Pll     But  June  has  come  with  all  her  charms  ; 
And  though  not  yet  have  I  confessed, 
I  own  my  other  mind,  she  harms 
Laying  more  beauty  on  the  farms — 
The  woods  in  finer  green  are  dressed — 
Where  birdlings  hop  from  many  a  nest. 


94  POEMS 

And  old  birds  sing  their  morning  psalms. 
Children  have  flowers  in  their  arms 
More  beautiful  than  May  possessed, 
And  strawberry  stains  are  on  their  palms ; 
Our  lips  their  juices  too  have  pressed 
So  much  to  praise  my  feelings  test, 
After  May-showers  so  many  calms. 


DYING  SUMMER. 

lUMMER  is  dying,  see  the  birds  are  gone — 

They  would  not  stay  to  look  upon  the  scene  ; 
They  flacked  around  to  sing  when  she  was  born, 
An  1  lingered  through  the  sweetest  months  of  green. 
But,  see,  at  the  first  signs  of  her  decay, 
They  sang  a  farewell  dirge  and  fled  away. 

Summer  is  dying  now,  each  moving  breath 
Tells  to  the  careful  ear  her  days  are  few ; 
And  her  gay  robes  are  laid  aside  for  death — 
Her  flowers  are  left  for  ruder  hands  to  strew ; 
While  the  cold  night- dews  gather  on  her  brow, 
Be  still,  and  weep,  summer  is  dying  now. 

Summer  is  dying — see  the  mantling  clouds 
Hovering  to  watch  her  all  along  the  sky, 
And  holding  out  for  her  their  snowy  shrouds 

They  seem  to  say — "  When  the  fair  one  shall  die  " 
These  robes  are  hers,  and  bending  o'er  her  bier 
We'll  not  fojget  to  shed  the  farewell  tear. 


LATE  NOVEMBER  95 

Summer  is  dying  with  her  many  charms 
O,  who  will  take  her  sinking  form  to-day — 
So,  sweet  September  stretches  forth  her  arms  ! 
Clasps  her  most  fondly — hurries  her  away — 
And  as  they  go  she  dies,  and  sterner  Fall 
Draws  o'er  her  lovely  form  the  funeral  pall. 

1867. 


WHY  SUMMER  GOES  AWAY, 

SINTER  in  love  with  summer-time 

From  hearing  of  her  many  charms, 
Leaves  his  far  northern  home,  and  comes 

Longing  to  take  her  to  his  arms ; 
She  knows  beyond  the  ice  and  snow 
He  on  his  sledge  can  never  go. 

Still  she  is  so  afraid  of  him, 

Only  from  what  to  her  is  told, 
She  gathers  all  her  flowers  up, 

And  flies  away  from  snow  and  cold. 


LATE  NOVEMBER. 

FORMS  wait  in  all  our  skies.     The  hills  are  dead, 

And  the  long  vales  are  hushed,  for  winter  snows ; 
Their  marshes,  and  the  brooks  already  froze — 
And  every  rush  a- tremble  as  with  dread  ; 
The  trees  have  but  some  leaves  o'erhead — 


96  POEMS 

While  here  and  there  is  heard  the  caw  of  crows  ; 
But  every  tenderer  bird  that  yearly  knows 
The  terror  of  fall's  later  months,  has  fled. 
The  cattle  move  about  with  discontent, 
And  find  their  homes  as  chilly  'night  comes  down, 
When  the  old  farmer  closer  draws  his  frock, 
And  sights  the  clouds,  as  if  they  evil  meant; 
Yet  one  dear  family  throughout  the  town 
Seems  happy  in  the  fields — the  fleecy  flock. 


WINTER. 

is  winter,  lonesome  winter, 
While  so  much  that  cheered  has  fled 
Things  of  Spring-time,  Summer,  Autumn, 

Gone  beneath  the  snow  all  dead  : 
Yet  Hope  dies  not  in  December, 

If  the  heart  with  faith  be  warm  ; 
Since  it  sweetly  doth  remember 

There  is  sunshine  after  storm — 
Since  it  sweetly  doth  remember 

What  Death  down  to  Earth  may  fling, 
Shall  come  back  to  our  affection 

In  the  golden  days  of  Spring. 


LONE  PINE. 

Some  two  miles  away  from  Castleton  village,  Vt.,  on  a  lofty 
hill  stands  a  lone  pine.  This  dark  green  cone-like  iigure 
against  the  ever  changing  sky  is  not  aware  of  the  pleasurable 
or  sad  emotions  awakened  in  the  many  who  must  look  upon 
it  if  they  but  turn  their  eyes  toward  the  south.  Our  C.  L.  S.- 
C.  of  this  village  has  taken  its  name  from  this  favorite  tree. 

pine,  should  I  address  thee,  far  or  near, 
A  poor,  unthinking  tree  thou  couldst  not  hear ; 
Yet  thy  familiar  form 

On  yonder  hill-top  'gainst  the  southern  sky, 
So  oft  has  fallen  on  my  upturned  eye, 
Through  days  of  sun  and  storm — 

That  I  will  not  f  ;rb  >ar  my  speech  to  frame ; 

Hearing  or  not  it  will  be  all  the  same, 

As  I  may  better  keep 

In  memory's  book  when  I  may  pass  from  thee, 

Some  thoughts  suggested  by  a  lonely  tree, 

Far  up  the  hillside  steep. 

Thou  didst  not  grieve  when  thy  companions  fell — 

Thou  hadst  no  words  regretful  then  to  tell. 

Still,  I  have  thought  of  thee— 

Bereft  of  all  that  in  their  beauty  stood — 

A  forest  throng,  of  many  kinds  of  wood — 

A  pleasant  family. 

97 


98  POEMS 

Left  now  alone — the  ax  of  death  did  fall, 
And  thou  wast  spared  the  only  one  of  all, 
To  meet  the  mountain  gale  ! 
To  sing  thy  stronger  bass  to  every  breeze, 
And  favored  then,  as  still,  the  tree  of  trees — 
Thy  lot  dost  not  bewail ! 

But  there  creeps  over  me  a  sadness  oft, 

As  tbou  art  standing  in  thy  pride  aloft, 

And  I  am  led  to  say, 

There  are,  who  live  with  all  their  dear  ones  gone, 

In  sentient  loneliness  their  loss  to  mourn 

The  many  borne  away. 

They  cannot  brave  the  heavier  blast  like  thee, 
That  breaks  the  more  for  every  falling  tree, 
They  cannot  louder  sing ; 

Their  lives  were  blended  so  with  those  they  had 
And  lost,  now  they  themselves  so  lonely,  sad, 
Would  to  the  valley  fling. 

But  thou  art  just  the  same  old  hill-top  pine  ! 
A  lovely  shade  when  summer  suns  do  shine, 
And  thou  dost  feast  our  eyes. 
May  we,  whom  time  and  change  leave  all  alone, 
Stay  to  do  good,  and  hope  that  farther  on 
May  Beam  far  sunnier  skies 

Castleton,  February  1885. 


LIFE'S  SEASON. 

'RING-TIME  is  when  life  is  the  strongest, 
And  the  verdure  is  young,  and  so  fair — 
With  the  buds  breaking  forth  into  blossom 
On  the  fruit-trees  abroad  everywhere — 
And  our  hearts  seem  in  happiness  longest 
The  joy  of  all  nature  to  share. 

How  beautiful  then  is  the  summer, 
So  kindly  embellished  by  spring ; 

All  fruits  from  the  blossoms  are  growing, 
And  the  wee  birds  are  learning  to  sing ; 

The  brooks  have  run  low  to  a  murmur 

Where  the  shy  mottled  trout  we  may  fling. 

Now  Autumn  is  here  with  completeness — 
How  quickly  two  seasons  have  gone  ? 

The  fruits  all  appear  in  their  richness, 
And  in  nature  old  age  hurries  on — 

The  bees  have  well  hoarded  their  sweetness 
And,  chill  holds  the  evening  and  morn. 

Ah,  here  is  a  lesson  for  mortals — 

Our  Spring-time  makes  sure  all  the  rest; 

If  we  trifle  away  life's  beginnings, 

The  blossoms  may  blight  in  the  breast, 

And,  as  summer  throws  open  her  portals 

We  may  live  but  as  useless  at  best : 


1 00  POEMS 

The  fruits  by  our  Maker  demanded, — 

Our  souls  have  been  cheated  of  these  ; 

And  we  pass  through  mid-life  though  well-cultured 

With  "  nothing  but  leaves  "  on  our  trees  : 
Our  growth  for  all  else  is  expanded — 

But  'tis  "good  fruit "  alone  that  will  please. 

Sad  the  Autumn,  if  Spring-time  be  wasted, 
Though  the  summer  be  healthful  and  gay ; 

We  must  open  our  eyea.filled  \vithsorr«w 
When  the  harvest  shall  take  us  away  ; 

And,  as  trees  useless,  fruitless,  be  hasted 
From  time,  having  finished  our  day. 


THE  LEAF. 

To  a  leaf  snowed  in  against   my  window-pane   during  a 
severe  storm  in  the  winter  of  1889. 

;ND  whither  tiny  mortal  have  you  come 

This  wintry-day  to  look  into  our  home? 
You  will  not  tell  I  see  the  changeful  story — 
Now  worn,  and  withered  past  all  earthly  glory  : 
Then  while  I  trace  your  course  listen  intent, 
And  if  I  rightly  guess,  just  bow  assent ; 
I'm  sure  you  came  of  a  great  family 
Clinging  together  round  the  parent  tree — 
But,  where  you  lived,  as  well  I  do  not  know, 
You  may  have  come  long  miles  above  the  snow ; 
Well,  those  were  happy  days  for  you  I  ween, 
With  all  your  sisters  dressed  alike  in  green 


THE    LEAF  IOI 

Dancing  for  very  joy,  when  summer's  breeze 

Came  soft,  and  cool  the  family  to  please. 

Perchance  some  robin  had  her  strawy  nest 

Where  you  could  fan  in  heat  her  russet  breast, 

Or  hold  above  her  young  your  parasol 

To  break  the  scalding  rays  while  they  were  small  j 

Or,  am  I  wrong — perhaps  you  used  to  be 

The  highest  leaf  upon  the  family  tree, 

And  every  other  could  not  see  the  sky, 

Without  the  lofty  glance  of  your  proud  eye  ; 

And  then  your  humbler  sisters  down  the  stairs, 

Rightly  accused  you  of  assuming  airs  : 

Why  hesitate  so  long?     Have  I  not  yet 

Upon  the  true  thread  of  your  history  hit? 

Well,  then  it  may  be  you  were  pleased  to  rock 

Among  the  outer  circle  of  the  flock, 

And  hold  contention  with  each  sister  leaf — 

Sometimes,  so  sharply  as  to  come  to  grief; 

As  when  the  worrying  winds  would  bring  you  near, 

The  slaps  of  your  offense  were  heard  quite  clear. 

Your  life  I  do  not  know  to  clearly  tell, 

And  I  have  found  you  dead  since  here  you  fell ; 

Still,  o'er  you  desolate,  then  let  me  guess 

The  many  hardships  of  your  sore  distress. 

Ah  !  I  remember  when  the  plague  came  on 

With  frosty  breath  till  every  leaf  was  gone 

From  summer  life — they  faded  on  the  trees, 

And  burials  began  with  every  breeze, 

Or,  when  the  air  was  still  I've  watched  them  fall 

Solemnly,  slowly,  as  a  funeral  call. 


102  POEMS 

Thou  vvert  not  buried  with  thy  race — lone  leaf ! 
Yet  fastened  to  thy  place  past  dying  grief, 
Till  this  rude  storm  hath  pelted  thee  away 
To  drive  thee  lifeless  all  this  cheerless  day ; 
Now,  here  in  silence  thou  hast  found  a  tomb 
Betwixt  the  snow  and  glass,  of  my  warm  room  ; 
And  I  imagine  that  your  grave  will  be 
Under  this  window  where  I  write  of  thee  ; 
How,  in  thy  death  after  a  life  so  brief — 
The  truth  grows  new — we  fade,  all  as  the  leaf. 

1889. 


HILLS,  VALES,  AND  LAKES. 

[Written  for  the  Kutland  County  Historical  Society,  and 
read  at  their  annual  meeting  August  6th,  1884,  at  Bomoseen 
Lake,  Castleton,  Yt.] 

fOD  loves  the  Hills  !  On  Sinai's  mount  of  old 
He  stood  with  Moses  wonders  to  unfold — 
And"  met  Elijah  on  the  Carmel  height, 
Baal  to  baffle,  and  his  foes  to  smite  ; 
Over  Mount  Zion  poured  his  glory  forth — 
The  hill  called  beautiful  and  joy  of  earth. 

I  love  your  hills,  which  may  not  seem  to  be 
As  dear  as  mine  of  Maine  appear  to  me — 
Although  I  own  that  many  to  the  eye, 
Many  of  mine  in  beauty  may  outvie  ; 
And  pleasure  oft  my  craving  spirit  thrills, 
To  look  aloft  upon  your  county  hills. 


HILLS,   VALES,   AND   LAKES  103 

I  love  the  hills  when  lifted  grandly  high 
And  rounded  broadly  like  the  o'erarching  sky — 
Their  parts  I  love — the  groves,  and  single  trees, 
Swinging  their  arms  of  welcome  to  the  breeze. 
The  level  ledges,  and  the  boulders  there, 
Pelted  by  storms,  and  left  so  clean  and  bare — 
The  soft  thick  grassy  covering — like  a  shawl, 
Seen  from  the  distance  wrapped  around  them  all. 

Climbing  these  hills,  I  love  the  wide  expanse 
The  eye  sweeps  over  in  its  circling  glance  : 
Wood-valleys  near,  which  when  looked  down  upon 
Seem  as  green  seas  kissed  by  the  summer's  sun. 
The  fields  lie  off  in  patches  more  remote, 
Where  golden  acres  seem  like  waves  to  float, 
Or  the  green  corn  dark-leaved  so  thickly  grows, 
Sending  the  tassels  up  to  mark  the  rows ; 
And  the  bright  streams  that  in  the  lowlands  lay 
To  wriggle  out  like  serpents  far  away. 

I  love  the  vales  deep  down  from  sun,  and  breeze, 
With  rich  variety,  the  mind  to  please  ; 
Heavy  the  shade,  and  cool  the  summer  air, 
How  sweet  to  hie  here,  from  the  noonday  glare. 
Here,  the  great  family  of  ferns  is  found, 
Fronded  in  every  shape.,  along  the  ground  ; 
The  mossy  knoll  of  green,  and  yielding  plush 
Where  one  may  sit  charmed  by  the  timid  thrush; 
The  running  brook  with  ever  varying  song, 
The  banks  of  which  have  boy  paths  all  along, 
And  places  where  they  creep  with  noiseless  tread 
To  swing  with  gentle  care  the  trout  o'er  head. 


1 04  POEMS 

Linchens  adorn  the  rocks,  the  logs  and  trees, 
While  vines  of  beauty  cling,  and  climb  o'er  these  : 
God  loves  the  valley  as  he  loves  the  hills, 
And  so  with  pleasure  all  the  places  fills. 

I  love  the  lakes  in  broader  valleys  seen, 

Washing  the  feet  of  hills  they  lie  between ; 

Swosh,  Swosh,  the  waves  repeat  on  rocky  wall, 

Or  creep  along  the  sands,  with  stiller  fall — 

Then,  when  the  winds  are  down  they  cease  to  move, 

And  leave  a  mirror,  for  all  things  above  j 

The  trees  lean  over  from  the  hillside  eaves, 

To  see  their  beauty,  and  adjust  their  leaves ; 

The  clouds  seem  coming  nearer  gayly  drest, 

As  if  attracted  by  a  lake  at  rest — 

Sun,  moon,  and  stars  each  from  the  lofty  place 

Dive  far  into  the  depth  to  bathe  the  face. 

What  wealth  of  pleasure  in  our  earlier  days, 
We  found  within  the  lakelets  sunny  bays, 
We  knew  the  hidden  rocks  on  which  to  climb, 
From  whence  to   throw  the  hook  in  summer  time, 
And  when  December  would  the  lake  congeal, 
Pleasure  was  sweeter,  on  the  ringing  steel. 
My  lakes  are  many,  from  my  hills  that  rise — 
With  full  a  dozen  I  could  feast  my  eyes  ; 
And  you  have  yours  to  which  you  love  to  go, 
I  have  not  known  them — and  I  do  not  know 
This  Lake,  and  island,  yet,  I  promise  you 
When  I  have  known,  I  shall  admire  them  too. 


FLATTERED    AND    FOOLED  105 

Christ  loved  the  lakes — his  chosen  Galilee, 
How  many  pilgrims  journey  far  to  see  ; 
From  it  he  called  the  sturdy  fishing  band, 
To  catch  him  men,  all  sinful  on  the  land  ; 
Its  fish  would  bring  to  Peter  if  he  choose — 
A  piece  of  money  to  exact  his  dues, 
Or  clog  the  net  from  the  surrounding  tide 
When  he  said — drop  it  from  the  other  side  ; 
It  conscious  knew  him,  when  he  stilled  its  roar 
And  for  his  feet  became  a  silvery  floor. 
He  owneth  now  the  lakes,  the  vales,  and  hills, 
Thus  'tis  his  glory  all  our  vision  fills. 


FLATTERED  AND  FOOLED. 

Devil  came  to  a  fair  young  man, 
And  gently  whispered — you  "  Can't  and  you 

Can; 

You  can't  be  robbed  of  your  liberty — 
'Tis  surely  a  thing  that  must  not  be — 
You  can  act  for  yourself — you  must  be  free  !  " 
Thus  flattered  and  fooled,  the  young  man  said 
I  shall  go  as  I  please,  and  I  shan't  be  led  ! 
These  older  ones,  who  would  dictate  me 
Have  had  their  day,  and  their  liberty ; 
And  now,  so  shall  I — yes,  I  will  be  free. 
It  chanced  one  day  that  a  glass  of  beer 
Came  in  his  way  from  a  friend  most  dear ; 
Now  he  had  been  taught  the  glass  to  shun, 
But  the  Devil's  thought  through  his  young  mind  run 


106  POEMS 

You  must  have  your  way,  you  can  try  just  o««  ; 

This  was  a  twine  in  the  Devil's  hand 

Of  a  mighty  cord,  the  first  slight  strand — 

So  the  boy  felt  manly,  and  went  his  way, 

And,  I  Can  and  I  Can't  to  himself  did  say — 

I  could  take,  or  deny  as  I  please  this  day. 

After  awhile  with  a  jolly  young  band 

He  finds  himself  with  a  glass  in  hand  ; 

And  the  move  is  stronger  than  that  of  beer, 

And  he  thinks  for  a  moment  with  trembling  fear 

I  can  deny,  but  I  won't  try  here. 

Ah  !  his  brain  is  addled  with  this  a  mite, 

And,  he  gets  alone  in  his  shameful  plight ; 

Then  reasons  thus,  I  can't,  and  I  can  ! 

I  can't  be  bound  and  still  be  a  man ; 

I  can  let  it  alone  any  time  I  plan  : 

What  is  the  use,  since  the  boys  all  drink 

For  me  like  a  coward  away  to  slink  ; 

I  must  with  the  masses  enjoy  my  fun, 

And  when  I  get  older  I'll  let  them  run 

If  they  think  they  must — but  I  will  be  done. 

Come,  John,  come  on  !     Dick  Jones  and  I, 

Have  agreed  to  treat  the  crowd  on  a  sly— 

And  so  it  shall  go  with  us,  two  by  two 

Till  we  take  our  turns  and  shall  all  get  through 

We  have  reckoned  it  up,  and  we  must  have  you. 

Well,  I  can  and  I  can't — I  must  do  as  I  please  ; 

If  I  now  say  I  shan't  you  will  trouble  and  tease— 

You  may  reckon  me  one,  but  'tis  only  a  bother— 

I'm  awfully  afraid  it  may  get  to  my  mother ; 

We  must  keep  very  sly,  and  take  care  of  each  other. 


THE  SNARE  107 

Ah  !  the  three-fold  cord  in  the  Devil's  hand 

Is  twisted  now  as  himself  hath  planned  ; 

And  the  strong  young  man  in  his  liberty 

Begins  to  feel,  I  am  not  quite  free — 

There  is  something  awful  that's  holding  me ; 

Tis  something  awful !  he  is  firmly  bound, 

And  led  by  the  Devil  around  and  around — 

Away  from  the  Bible,  the  Church  and  his  God  ; 

To  swagger,  and  shout  in  the  deathway  broad, 

Till  bloated  he  moves  like  a  leprous  clod  ; 

Lost  to  friends,  though  their  pity  stays — 

Lost  to  himself  from  his  old-time  ways — 

Lost  to  hope — and  so  lost  in  despair, 

While  Demons  find  him,  and  mock  him  there, 

The  once  young  man  with  a  brow  so  fair. 

Now  the  Devil's  phrase  has  turned  to  a  taunt 

As  he  holds  him  bound,  "  You  can  and  you  can't," 

You  can  go  with  me  this  way  so  broad, 

But  you  can't  "inherit  the  kingdom  of  God  " 

My  ends  are  answered — go  under  the  sod. 


THE  SNARE. 

JEAR  to  an  opening  made  for  air, 

I  saw  a  spider  had  woven  his  snare 
With  wisdom  so  cunning  as  if  he  knew 
It  would  be  a  most  natural  thoroughfare 
For  the  flies,  and  insects  passing  through — 


1 08  POEMS 

Twas  a  fine  spun  web  around,  all  around— 
The  spokes  with  felloes  securely  bound, 

And  then  from  the  outer  rim  were  guys 
Reaching  all  ways,  and  hitched  I  found, 

Which  held  his  rigging  for  catching  flies  ; 

Some  lines  run  up  from  this  gauzy  wheel 
To  a  beam  above,  which  did  half  conceal 

The  grizzly  form  of  the  aranea 
As  he  watched  from  his  lurking  place  for  a  meal- 
Some  game  to  see,  or  a  buzz  to  hear ; 

Presently  through  the  window  sash, 
On  hurrying  wing  with  incautious  dash 

A  poor  fly  came,  and  ere  ever  aware 
He  found  for  his  folly,  and  daring  rash, 

Entanglement  fast  in  a  dreadful  snare  ; 

Now  hastening  down  from  his  perching  place, 
The  grey  old  monster  with  haggard  face 

In  an  instant  enfolds  the  silly  thing, 
And  as  if  to  lose  it  would  bring  disgrace 

He  stills  its  buzzing  with  deadly  sting. 

Like  this  spider — along  life's  thoroughfares, 
Old  Satan  hath  artfully  laid  his  snares ; 

And  onward  the  reckless  masses  throng 
Into  his  meshes,  till  unawares 

They  are  seized,  and  held  by  the  Demon  strong. 


"YOU  WILL  FOR  ME." 

MAIDEN  came,  with  flattering  lips, 

And  rosy  cheeks,  and  winsome  smile, 
"o  hold  with  blushing  finger  tips 
The  ruby  wine  a  little  while. 

"I  never  drink,"  the  young  man  spake; 
"  You  will  a  glass  for  my  own  sake, 
A  cheerless  hour  to  beguile," 
She  leaned  and  softly  said. 

And  with  that  glass  the  devil  went 

To  take  the  rein  of  human  will ; 
The  charmer  for  him  gained  consent, 

Now  the  fair  youth  must  have  his  fill ; 

He  cares  not  if  from  rougher  hands 

Come  harsher  drinks  for  his  demands. 

'Tis  easy  going  down  this  hill, 

And  soon  the  youth  is  dead. 


THE  ROAD  TO  RUIN. 

5HERE  is  many  a  road  to  ruin — 
But  the  sorriest  way  I'll  show, 
The  one  that  needs  no  guideboard 

But  those  who  along  it  go  ; 
Look  at  the  motley  trampers 
And  the  road  you  can  but  know. 


109 


110  POEMS 

At  the  head  of  the  street  it  starts  from, 
It  does  not  seem  so  bad — 

The  saloon  is  richly  furnished, 
And  the  boys  are  cleanly  clad — 

And  the  lord  of  the  shining  glasses 
Has  a  smile  for  every  lad. 

But  you  go  a  little  way,  sir 

And  the  boys  have  poorer  clothes ; 

And  the  light  of  the  pipe  discovers 
A  rum  gleam  on  the  nose — 

Cigars  they  started  out  with, 
But  the  money  scarcer  grows. 

Go  further  over  the  journey  ! 

And  observe  the  passers  here — 
With  cross- streets  into  the  broad  way 

For  the  holes  of  rum  and  beer. 
And  hovering  near  the  corners, 

The  wives  and  children  dear — 

The  ragged  wives  and  children, 
With  their  faces  hunger-thin  • 

Loved  when  father  was  sober, 
Now,  not  so  well  as  his  gin — 

Hovels,  too,  all  about  here 

Have  but  want,  and  war  within. 

Pass  on  a  little  further, 

Here  is  the  journey's  end — 

Look  !  what  a  mighty  graveyard 
For  a  father,  son,  and  friend — 


GEORGE    HARVEY  III 


You  knew  their  staggering  footsteps 
To  this  dreary  place  did  tend — 

And  you  need  but  wait  a  moment 

To  see  a  coffin  come  ; 
Followed  by  want,  and  pity 

Out  of  some  wretched  home  ; 
A  father  or  son  it  may  be, 

Dead — and  the  cause  is  rum. 


GEORGE  HARVEY. 

|EORGE  HARVEY  I  never  knew,  but  I  read 

Somebody  found  him  one  day,  dead, 
^atless  and  shoeless,  a  sad  affair  ; 
And  he  pictured  the  man  with  brownish  hair, 
H  is  face  in  the  dust,  on  a  New  York  pier ; 
And  some  one  related  his  past  career — 
His  name  he  knew,  and  his  age  he  told  ; 
George  Harvey  of  Boston,  forty  years  old — 
He  was  well  connected,  the  story  run  : 
Of  wealthy  parents  the  favored  son, 
With  a  business  gift  in  the  way  of  trade, 
A  salesman  for  heavy  firms  he  made ; 
But  he  loved  the  drink,  and  within  its  power 
He  passed  on  downward,  lower  and  lower, 
His  friends  oft  sought  him  to  help  him  up 
But  he  left  them  all  for  the  cursed  cup — 
Became  a  tramp,  and  would  stagger  here 
For  his  drunken  stupor  along  this  pier. 


112  POEMS 

Sometimes  the  police  would  take  a  rope 

To  tie  around  him,  and  let  him  drop ; 

But  it  did  no  good — the  drench,  or  the  fall — 

He  loved  his  drink,  and  he  gave  his  all. 

Fathers,  your  sons  are  beneath  your  care ; 

Mothers,  you  brush  back  the  dark  brown  hair 

And  look  in  the  eyes  of  your  noble  boy 

Who  fills  so  fully  the  home  with  joy. 

Will  a  story  like  this  you  have  read  above 

Ever  be  told  of  the  boy  you  Jove  ? 

It  may  be  so,  if  you  do  not  hate 

The  first  few  steps  to  the  drunkard's  fate  : 

Tell  to  your  children — O  parents  tell — 

The  first  dram  drank  is  a  step  towards  hell. 


THE, TALKING  FROGS. 

CURIOUS  race  seem  the  frogs  to  be, 

When  I  think  of  the  words  they  talk  to  me  ; 
As  I  rode  one  day  near  a  way-side  bog — 
Down  hid  in  the  grass  was  a  saucy  frog 
With  his  mate  akin,  and  their  first  salute 
About  my  passing  was  this  dispute — 
Frog  first  said  "  one,"  as  if  he  knew, 
But  his  mate  disputed,  and  cried  out  "  two ;  " 
And  so  they  had  it  a  little  while 
As  I  went  on  with  a  thinking  smile, 
Making  both  right,  this  way  you  see, 
The  last  frog  counted  my  horse  and  me. 


HOME    THRUSTS  113 

But  the  best  thing  a  poet  ever  heard 

The  frogs  to  perform  in  deed,  and  word 

Was  this  I  will  tell ;  in  a  nightly  walk 

A  drunkard  came  by  where  the  frogs  did  talk, 

And  one  of  them  called  his  name  out  right — 

Yet,  how  could  he  see  in  a  cloudy  night? 

Zim  Mon-n-n-k,  Zim  Mon-n-n-k  he  began  to  say, 

When  another-  targe  frog  a  little  away 

Took  up  the  sentence  the  first  had  begun — 

Got  dr-r-runk  dr-r-runk,  and  this  one  done, 

A  third  old  fellow  though  laughing  some 

Bellowed  the  words — onr-r-rum  on  r-r-rum; 

Well  what  do  you  think  that  drunkard  said? 

Why,  he  thought  the  frogs  were  by  Heaven  led, 

And  at  that  temperance  meeting  swore 

He  would  turn  from  his  cups,  and  drink  no  more. 

OD  farm  wagon,  May  1891. 


HOME  THRUSTS. 

IOUL  said  to  the  body, 

"You  like  to  take  your  toddy — " 

Then  body  answered  soul, 
"You  help  me  tip  the  bowl — " 

Soul  again  responded 
"You're  drunker  than  a  fool ; " 

Body,  sorely  wounded 
Replied  "  I  am  your  tool !  " 


114  POEMS 

Soul,  now  in  a  passion, 
Trying  to  shirk  the  blame — 

Says,  "  Men  have  no  fashion 
To  ever  name  my  name  !  " 

"So,  you  can't  deceive  me  " 
Cried  body  with  a  roar  ! 

"  Get  up,  and  get,  and  leave  me, 
And  I  will  drink  no  more." 

1891. 


THE  TEARFUL  WAIF. 

YD  was  the  face  of  the  tiny  waif, 

With  words  of  want  in  his  tearful  eyes 
As~he  stood  mid  the  shadows  of  night,  and  grief, 

Under  the  light  of  the  stars  in  the  skies, 
And  the  flashof    windows,  the  moments  brief. 


What  is  the  matter,  my  boy  ?  was  said  ; 

Struck  with  his  eager  pitiful  face — 
Mother  is  sick,  and  my  father  is  dead, 

And  nobody  comes  at  all  to  our  place 
To  see  if  we  want  any  care,  or  bread  ! 


THE   TEAREUL    WAIF  115 

And  the  cold  creeps  into  the  shattered  pane — 
And  the  chips  are  very  few  I  can  find  ; 

But  mother  has  said  we  won't  complain — 
It  is  hard  though,  always  to  keep  one's  mind 

When  folks  keep  wanting  a  boy  to  explain. 

Why  did  your  father  die  so  young? 

I  am  sure  my  lad  you  are  not  very  old  ! 
Well,  mother  has  told  me  to  keep  my  tongue, 

And  only  say  of  a  dreadful  cold, 
Which  a  terrible  rain  upon  him  flung. 

Say,  I  have  not  told  you,  have  I  now  ? 

And  if  mother  asks  I  can  tell  her  so 
If  you  should  happen  to  find  our  street 

And  call  at  the  poverty  pit  as  you  go 
To  bring  us  along  there,  something  to  eat ; 

But  don't  tell  mother  a  thing  you  know, 

If  she  of  your  coming  should  ask  you  why  ! 

Because,  I  know  just  what  she  will  do, 
Hiding  her  face,  she  will  sob  and  cry  ! 

You  won't  need  that  as  my  story  is  true. 

I  am  not  so  young  as  I  seem  to  be, 

But  starving  so  much  has  made  me  small ! 

And  that  is  why  mother  is  sick  you  see, 
And  so  weak  she  cannot  work  at  all — 

O,  the  world's  so  dark  for  her,  and  me. 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 


On  reading   the   closing   paragraph  of  his  first  inaugural. 

The  mystic  chords  of  memory  stretching  from  every  battle- 
field, and  patriotic  grave  to  every  living  heart,  and  hearth 
stone  all  over  this  broad  land,  will  yet  swell  the  chorus  of  the 
union,  when  again  touched — as  surely  they  will  be  by  the  bet- 
ter angels  of  our  nature. 


JE  grows  upon  us  as  the  years  go  by ; 

Time  cannot  wear  his  name,  or  deeds  away — 
And  all  his  words  as  heart-gems  with  us  stay 
As  if  they  dropped  divinely  from  the  sky  : 
He  shall  be  great  as  other  years  may  die — 
For  honesty  will  live — nor  bravery  decay — 
And  "Charity  for  all  "  will  keep  its  way, 
As  history  tells  of  rrs  far-seeing  eye 
That  moved  to  prophecy  his  aching  heart ; 
Such  times  are  breaking  on  us  even  now, 
When  brothers  of  one  land  we  feel  we  are — 
Our  better  nature,  bringing  souls  apart, 
Around  our  country's  shrine  to  bow, 
And  mourn  together,  the  sad  wrecks  of  war. 

116 


GOUGH. 

ON  READING  THE  DEATH  OF  J.  B.  G. 

'HOUT  !  ye  distillers,  and  brewers  ; 
Shout,  all  ye  sellers,  and  buyers  i 
He  who  hated  that  traffic  of  yours, 
As  he  hated  the  thought  of  hell-fires — 
Is  dead — Gough  is  dead  ! 

Laugh  !  all  ye  drunkards,  and  drinkers, 
That  do  not  yet  stagger  and  drop — 

One  of  the  great  sober  thinkers 
On  ways  the  rum  traffic  to  stop, 
Is  dead  !  Gough  is  dead  ! 

Smile  !  all  ye  young  men,  and  lasses 
As  ye  deck  the  saloons  for  your  prey ; 

And  feather  the  dust  from  your  glasses 
That  glitters  by  night,  and  by  day, 
Your  dread — Gough  is  dead  ! 

Mourn  now,  ye  wives  and  ye  mothers  ! 

For  this,  that  a  leader  is  gone  ; 
Sisters,  the  friend  of  your  brothers 

For  whom  ye  have  mourning  put  on, 
Is  dead,  Gough  is  dead  ! 


117 


IlS  POEMS 

Sigh,  every  temperance  worker, 

The  valliant  whom  age  had  not  stopped- 

The  busy  one,  never  a  shirker — 

From  his  sermon  half  uttered  has  dropped, 
For  death — Gough  is  dead  ! 

Lift  up  your  shoulder  young  prophet, 
And  ask  for  his  mantle  to  come — 

On  whom  shall  it  fall,  if  he  drop  it, 
To  fight,  as  he  fought  against  rum? 
Now  dead,  Gough  is  dead  ! 


GARFIELD. 

;UR  Garfield  dead,  and  all  the  land  in  tears  ! 

We  mourn  him  now,  for  what  he  was  in  worth, 
Stainless,  and  grand  in  history  from  birth  ; 
The  common  people's  friend — the  pride  of  peers — 
His  Christ  like  charity  encircling  alHhe  earth  ; 
Our  ruler,  lifted  to  his  throne  with  cheers — 
And  millions  felt  it  would  be  well  with  all. 

We  mourn  him  then,  for  what  he  yet  might  do, 
With  noble  purposes,  and  conscience  true — 
And  taught  of  Heaven  in  matters  great  or  small ; 
So  high  our  hopes,  so  low  their  sudden  fall : 
Still,  let  us  pray  that  seed  his  hand  did  strew, 
Biptized  with  blood,  may  soon  in  hearts  take  root, 
Yielding  the  nation  generous  stores  of  fruit. 

1881. 


LONGFELLOW. 

SONNETS. 

Read  for  the  C.  L.  S.  C.  at  Castleton,  Yt.,  Longfellow's 
evening,  1885. 

thee  this  changeful  life  is  over  now, 
And  Nature's  resting  place  thy  latest  bed  ! 
Yet  only  in  thy  flesh  we  deem  thee  dead — 
The  heart,  the  hand,  the  eye,  and  musing  brow ; 
Glorious  thy  life  still  stays,  onward  to  flow 
In  silvery  strains  of  song — a  light  to  shed — 
Tinged  by  thy  spirit  pure,  o'er  ways  we  tread. 
Thou  art  not  dead  in  magic  verse  we  know  : 

And  we  will  keep  thee  as  thou  wast  with  joy, 
Regretful  surely  that  thy  harp  is  still, 
So  long  attuned  to  every  heart's  great  need — 
Yet,  cheered  with  hope  that  thou  wilt  find  employ 
In  the  good  Father's  Kingdom,  where  His  will 
Thy  roving  thoughts  in  higher  tones  may  lead. 

II 

The  years  go  by,  the  sad  still  years  go  by, 
And  leave  to  memory  only  many  a  name 
That  cannot  die  from  out  the  book  of  fame  ; 
And,  though  slow  centuries  should  backward  fly 
To  bury  myriads  of  the  low,  and  high, 

119 


I2O  POEMS 

As  do  the  years  their  share,  'tis  all  the  same 
With  these,  they  safely  hold  through  time  their  claim 
To  be  remembered,  that  they  cannot  die  ; 
Homer  and  Virgil  live  in  olden  song — 
Shakespeare  and  Milton  walk  among  their  books, 
And,  them  of  Portland,  Cambridge,  every  place, 
Art  pouring  still  thy  pure,  sweet  life  along, 
In  words  as  pictures  of  thy  soul's  fair  looks, 
To  those  who  have  not  seen  thy  thoughtfu  face. 


TWO  SONNETS. 

A   SUNSET   SCENE   OF   JAN.  14TH.  1888. 

JHE  western  slope  of  clouds  and  sky, 
As  I  rode  out  through  Casco  Town 
When  the  red  sun  had  just  gone  down 
Hung  what  a  picture  o'er  my  eye  ; 
While  underneath  the  hills  crept  nigh 
With  snowy  heads  and  sides  of  brown, 
Mount  Washington  o'er  all  to  frown, 
Lifting  his  ponderous  shape  on  high. 

I  said,  O  Clouds,  ye  seem  to  me 

Like  dust  from  off  the  streets  of  gold, 

In  piles  along  the  vaulted  blue 

Filling  my  soul  with  ecstacy. 

I  could  not  Heaven's  door  behold, 

Else  might  have  thought  the  seeming  true. 


JOHN   HOLDEN  121 


And  now  as  twilight  dusky  grew, 
The  glorious  crimson  fading  out, 
Between  the  clouds  scattered  about 

The  narrow  moon  came  edging  through 

My  praise  to  take,  how  bright  and  new ; 
What  then?    By  accident  no  doubt, 
A  wandering  star  slipt  from  its  route, 

And  fell  adown  the  expanse  of  blue. 

I  gazed  surprised  to  find  it  stay, 
Leaving  its  pathway  all  ablaze 

With  more  than  molten-silver  light, 

To  brightly  burn  itself  away 

For  moments,  when  in  lasting  rays 

It  slowly  faded  from  the  sight. 


JOHN  HOLDEN. 

jHE  home  roofs  lay  aslant  to  the  sun 

Along  a  cjast  of  the  wide,  deep  sea, 
And,  leagues  away  there  was  bearing  on, 
A  vessel  with  many  an  earnest  one 
Hoping  to-morrow  at  home  to  be. 

But  now,  with  the  night  the  clouds  let  slip 
A  mighty  squall,  and  the  wrathful  waves 
Whirl  to  a  wreck  the  hurrying  ship, 
While  the  seamen  save  their  lives  with  a  grip 

At  the  rigging,  to  look  for  the  landward  braves. 


1  2  2  POEMS 

The  life-boat  tips  o'er  each  frothy  surge, 

Till  arms  grow  weary — then,  up  through  the  dark 
The  captain  shouts,  and  he  need  not  urge 
The  souls,  who  had  thought  of  their  funeral  dirge, 
Heard  in  the  ropes  of  the  foundering  bark. 

Now,  pulling  away  through  the  awful  night, 

Long  was  the  toil ;  and,  all  were  gone 
But  for  the  coasters,  who  built  their  light 
So  high,  and  clear,  that  a  gleam  shot  bright, 
Over  which  pathway  they  followed  on. 

Nearing  the  coast  all  safe  from  harm — 
Joy  in  their  faces,  and  joy  on  shore  ; 
Good  John  Holden,  lifting  his  arm, 
Peered  in  the  boat  with  eyes  so  calm, 
And  said,  hi !  hi  !  and  ye  left  no  more  ? 

Ay,  we  left  one  man,  who  long  delayed — 

How  could  we  tarry  indeed,  for  one  ? 
The  storm  was  fearful  about  o'erhead, 
We  dare  not  wait,  or  all  would  be  dead — 
We  come  exhausted,  our  work  is  done. 

And  you  will  go  back  ?  John  Holden  said  ; 

But,  no  !  in  the  good  man's  face  was  hurled — 
Then,  down  he  fell  on  the  sand,  and  prayed 
To  the  Christ  whom  the  winds,  and  waves  obeyed, 

And,  who  came  from  heaven  to  save  one  world. 


JOHN   HOLDEN  123 

Six  sinewy  men,  when  the  prayer  was  done- 
Waited  all  ready  the  waves  to  try ; 
John  Holden  stood  as  the  foremost  one, 
And,  his  mother  now  saw  her  much  loved  son 
Hasting  the  Venture  to  do,  or  die. 

She,  flinging  her  arms  his  neck  around, 

Cried,  what  shall  I  do  if  you  go  from  me  ? 
You  know  your  father  at  sea  was  drowned — 
And  your  brother  William  has  not  been  found, 
Who  sailed  so  long  ago,  out  to  sea. 

Mother,  said  John,  God  bids  me  go  ! 

And,  should  I  perish,  as  he  is  true 
To  his  mercy  great,  and  means,  I  know — 
I  can  give  you  up,  if  it  must  be  so — 

I  dare  to  trust  him,  to  care  for  you. 

• 
And,  away  they  went  in  the  lifeboat  strong — 

The  stalwart  men,  and  the  rescue  made, 
Climbing,  and  sinking  the  waves  along, 
Every  one  happy,  with  praise,  and  song, 

Bringing  the  saved  one  unafraid. 

Hi !  hi !  John  Holden — a  voice  was  heard, 

Have  you  the  man  ?  as  they  neared  the  coast — 
Ay  !  ay  !  through  the  storm  they  caught  his  word 
In  trumpet  tones,  for  his  soul  was  stirred, 
And,  my  mother  tell,  he's  the  son  she  lost. 


CUE  YEARS. 

day  that  glides  is  but  an  onward  pace — 
Each  year  is  as  a  mile  along  the  road 
That  marks  our  journey  from  its  starting  place, 
Through  changeful  scenes  to  where  with  meekened  face 
And  tired  feet,  we  drop  life's  heavy  load. 

How  truthfully  sublime  the  psalmist's  words, 

S^ul  sounds  of  sad  experience  of  old  ; 
Yet,  fitted  for  each  living  heart's  deep  chords, 
True  of  the  cotter  poor  and  palace  lords, — 

"  Our  years  are  spent  like  as  a  tale  that's  told." 

Sometimes  a  story  sweetly,  smoothly  flows, 

And  all  its  scenery  such  beauty  hath, 
That  we  are  charmed  ;  and  thus  life's  journey  goes, 
And  all  the  months  bloom  as  the  choicest  rose, 

Sending  a  fragrance  out  along  the  path. 

So  we  forget  that  life  hath  aught  but  sweet, 

Our  selfish  hearts  rejecting  others'  woe, 
To  haste  with  pleasure  seeking  eyes  and  feet, 
Tripping  along  youth's  pa  ved  and  showy  street, 

With  wealth  of  health,  to  keep  the  cheek  aglow. 

But  soon  we  strike  a  desert-dreary-day, 

When  thorns  and  thistles  pierce  where'er  we  turn, 

Troubles  new-born  benight  the  uneven  way — 

Our  tears  fall  sadly,  and  we  choking  say, 

The  path  was,  O  how  bright,  but  now  we  mourn. 

124 


OUR  YEARS  125 

And  well  we  may,  for  some  dear  kindly  face 

That  hath  companioned  with  us,  now  is  missed 
As  a  loved  star  from  its  accustomed  place, 
And  memory  through  the  dark  with  eager  chase 
Longs  for  the  tender  touch  of  lips  once  kissed. 

And  hands  go  out  in  vain  grasping  the  air, 

Where  once  they  met  the  strong  and  willing  palms, 
Ready  to  lift  us  up  each  rugged  stair, 
Or  brush  the  brow  to  smooth  away  our  care, 
Or  take  us  to  the  love  of  rounded  arms. 

But  they  were  tired,  so  let  us  bid  them  sleep, 

And  take  the  work  to  do  which  they  laid  down, 
Deeming  our  loss  their  gain,  and  cease  to  weep, 
Since  He  thought  best  who  doth  his  chosen  keep, 
That  they  should  stop,  and  wait  to  take  the  crown. 

Our  march  is  but  a  little  farther  on, 

When  we  shall  feel  the  fatal  sting  of  pain  ; 

And  find  our  places  with  the  myriads  gone, 

Till  rising  with  the  glow  of  breaking  morn, 
Our  loved  and  lost  ones  we  shall  meet  again. 


FAST  ASLEEP. 

TO  MY  BOY  IN  HIS  CRADLE. 

JEAUTIFUL  little  creature, 
Noiseless  innocent  sleep, 
[olding  each  limb  and  feature, 

Fast  in  the  cradle  deep  ; 
Forehead  smooth  as  the  marble, 

Clustered  with  golden  curls, 
Eyes  gently  shutting  out  teardrops 

Glistening  very  like  pearls ; 
Cheeks  aglow  and  bedimpled, 

Lips  sweetly  parted,  rose  red, 
Pressed  out  of  shape  just  a  little, 

By  the  fist  doubled  under  the  head ; 
Dimpled  again  at  the  elbows, 

One  hand  thrown  over  the  breast, — 
Thus  lay  the  dear  little  sleeper 

When  I  beheld  him  at  rest. 

1870. 


AT  TWENTY- ONE. 

§m|  PULLED  at  his  ears  this  morning, 
HH     As  my  father  before  me  has  done  ; 
Creeping  slyly  behind  his  children, 

On  the  birthday  of  daughter,  or  son. 
I  pulled  the  ears  this  morning 

Of  my  boy,  who  is  twenty-one. 

12$ 


AT   TWENTY- ONE  127 

A  sadness  creeps  through  my  spirit, 

As  he  crosses  this  threshold  o'er, 
And  Time  for  his  life  that  is  coming 

Swings  open  his  manhood's  door ; 
While  with  tears  I  review  his  pathway, 

And  dread  what  may  come  before. 
Ah  !  me,  when  his  feet  were  shorter, 

And  the  curls  hung  about  his  head, 
We  guarded  their  pathway  from  danger — 

My  hand  and  a  hand  that  is  dead  ; 
And  laughed  at  the  acts  of  his  childhood, 

With  the  many  smart  things  that  he  said. 
His  years  are  all  running  before  me, 

And  another  hath  taken  her  share, 
To  watch  the  swift  months  in  their  going, 

As  we  thought  of  his  absence  with  care ; 
For  school- days  are  fraught  with  temptation, 

And  need  to  be  followed  with  prayer. 
We  surrender  our  power  to  hold  them, 

The  boys,  when  they  reach  twenty-one, 
They  feel  that  life's  day  is  beginning, 

We,  that  life's  afternoon  has  begun. 
The  brilliance  of  noon  is  before  them, 

We  look  to  the  low  setting  sun. 
We  walk  the  still  paths  of  the  graveyard, 

And  linger  by  many  a  mound ; 
Death's  shadow  now  falleth  behind  them, 

Before  us  his  presence  is  found. 
Their  mates,  hand  in  hand,  are  about  them, 

Ours — many  are  under  the  ground. 


128  POEMS 

O  God  of  the  earth  and  the  ages, 

To  whom  all  the  future  is  known, 
Leave  not  a  young  man  independent, 

To  climb  life's  hard  hillsides  alone  ; 
Leave  not  his  dear  heart  to  the  tempter, 

Who  only  much  evil  hath  sown. 
O  God  of  the  earth  and  the  ages, 

Swing  inward  the  far  shining  door 
For  the  eye  that  is  searching  the  future, 

To  choose  out  a  pathway  before. 
Bring  his  feet  from  all  ways  time  may  open, 

To  walk  where  earth's  ills  come  no  more. 

Eleventh  day  of  the  eleventh  month, 


THE  BROKEN  NEST. 

NEST  aslant  in  yonder  tree  ! 
With  edges  torn  by  wind  and  storm, 

Once  full  of  fledglings  fe-1,  and  warm, 
What  saddening  thoughts  you  bring  to  me. 
I  cannot  tell  where  ye  have  fled, 

Or  how  ye  fare  where  ye  have  gone  ; 

But,  gazing  on  this  place  forlorn 
I  whisper  thus  ye  maybe  dead  ! 

How  like  old  home,  O  broken  nest, 
You  seem  to  me,  with  all  away, 
And  many  dear  ones  from  it  lay 

With  rooted  turf  above  the  breast ; 
But  joy  into  my  grief  has  come — 
My  flock  shall  find  another  home. 


THE  KNITTING  WORK. 

lay  away  in  the  closet  dark, 
Till  the  months  rolled  off  to  years  ; 
Moved  sometimes  with  a  fond  remark, 
As  the  voice  would  choke,  and  the  ear  would  hark- 
And  the  eyes  grow  moist  with  tears. 

Where  are  the  hands  that,  left  it  so — 

Half  finished  as  feeble  they  grew? 
Ah,  let  me  tell  since  I  sadly  know, 
Moveless,  we  folded  them  long  ago, 

And  they  lie  in  the  darkness  too. 

Half  knit,  the  stocking  was  laid  away — 
And  the  ball  was  broken  and  gone — 
Half  lived  by  her  was  life's  changeful  day, 
When  its  thread  was  cut,  and  she  could  not  stay, 
And  how  many  were  left  to  mourn. 

Some  one  imy  finish  the  waiting  hose, 

Finding  new  yarn  for  the  same  ; 
Some  One  her  life  will  begin  at  its  close — 
Breaking  the  bed  of  her  silent  repose, 

And  many  will  call  her  sweet  name. 

March  25th,  1882. 
129 


LIFE'S  UNCERTAINTY. 

I  felt  the  shuttle  flying — 
And  the  weaver  seemed  to  say, 
must  stretch  the  web  of  life  along 
Through  another  toilsome  day  ; 

Toward  the  beam  my  eyes  went  glancing, 

For  a  guess  at  what  remained  ; 
"But  a  curtain  hung  before  my  gaze, 

Thus  nothing  was  explained  : 

Then  I  said  to  Time,  the  weaver, 
(  Tell  me  truly  for  how  long 
-Shall  the  thread  of  life  be  flying, 
And  the  fabric  seem  so  strong — 

But  the  worker  whispered  softly, 
!    Know  I  this  no  more  than  you — 
All  the  future  hideth  from  us, 
Only  now,  have  I  in  view ; 

I  must  fling  each  day  the  moments, 

That  make  up  of  life  the  sum ; 
And  another  cuts  the  web  away, 

Oft  quickly  from  the  thrum  : 

His  name  is  Death — I  knew  him, 

When  a  weaver  in  my  prime  ; 
And  his  fateful  shears  still  follow  me, 

Though  I  am  called  Old  Time. 

130  1886. 


GONE  BEFORE. 

U!  WALKED  in  the  valley  of  sorrow, 
e||f|     With  tearful  and  low-bending  eyes  ; 
Each  day  had  its  gloomy  to-morrow, 
And  the  cliffs  were  repeating  my  cries 
As  they  went — in  such  mournful  replies — 

When  a  whisper,  low,  out  of  the  meadow, 
Swept  up  to  my  unthinking  ear, 

And  followed  along  like  a  shadow, 

Repeating,  "the  Lord  hath  been  here." 
Then  I  looked  where  it  sounded  so  near  ; 

And  I  saw  there  the  print  of  a  footstep 

On  a  crushed,  yet  a  blood-crimsoned  thorn, 

And  a  tear  like  a  pearl  hung  above  it 

From  a  leaf  where  the  stranger  had  gone  ; — 
These  I  saw,  and  was  gazing  upon, — 

When  the  whisper  came  up,  this  revealing, 
That  the  path  I  was  treading  in  grief, 

Had  been  trod  by  the  friend,  who,  all-healing, 
Had  come  for  the  mourner's  relief, 
And  had  suffered  for  sinners  the  chief. 

What  a  fragrance  I  found  in  this  valley  ! 
What  strength  entered  into  my  frame  ! 

How  my  burden  of  cold  melancholy 

Rolled  off  at  the  sound  of  his  name,    ^ 

And  the  thought,  THROUGH  THIS  VALLEY  HE  CAME: 

131  ' 


132  POEMS 

And  I  said,  if  his  grave  be  just  yonder, 
I  know  it  is  empty  and  still, 

For  in  gladness  he  burst  it  asunder, 
Far  in  heaven  his  office  to  fill, 
And  to  execute  for  me  his  will. 

Then  what  comfort  came  over  my  spirit 
As  I  thought,  if  I  too  must  lie  down, 

I  shall  rise  at  his  call,  through  his  merit, 
From  this  valley  to  find  me  a  crown, 
And  a  joy  that  all  sorrow  will  drown. 


THE  UNANSWERED  KNOCK. 

Loitering  one  day  in  the  Spring  of  1890  to  view  the  won- 
derful granite  wall  of  a  Raymond  cemetery,  and  coming  near 
the  tomb,  the  strange  freak  struck  me  to  knock  upon  its  iron 
door;  I  did  so,  and  the  following  lines  were  written  on  the  fly 
leaf  of  my  hymn  book,  as  I  mused  away:  — 

HH  KNOCKED  on  the  door  of  a  tomb, 
Sf|f|     And  all  was  but  silence  within — 
Save  the  echo  I  heard  in  the  gloom, 

Which  died  where  the  dead  long  had  been. 

No  face  stirred  to  look  in  my  face — 
As  a  hand  might  swing  open  the  door  ! 

No  sleeper  aroused  from  his  place — 
No  footfall  was  heard  on  the  floor  ! 


MORNING  133 

I  knew  here  was  one  just  asleep — 

That  the  days  had  been  few  since  he  came  ; 

But  his  slumber  was  thoughtless,  and  deep — 
Long  dead,  and  just  dead  were  the  same. 

Then  I  mused  on  the  theories  of  men — 
That  when  dead,  we  pass  up  to  the  skies ; 

And  I  said,  here  man's  knowledge  has  been, 
In  these  deaf  ears,  and  slumbering  eyes. 

Then  came  the  plain  words  of  Isaiah 

That  "  the  dead  shall  awaken,  and  sing ;  " 

And,  what  the  wise  man  did  declare, 

Of  the  dead,  "that  they  know  not  a  thing." 


MORNING. 

|WEET  morning  looked  from  the  Eastern  skies 

Across  the  hills  with  commanding  eyes, 
And  I  saw  them  out  of  the  dark  arise. 

Then  the  valleys  from  deeper  sleep  were  stirred 
With  things  of  life  that  the  call  had  heard, 
And  the  air  grew  vocal  with  many  a  bird. 

Above  the  gardens  she  breathed  soft  air, 
And  the  sleepy  flowers  that  nestled  there 
Out  of  the  dew  came,  new  and  fair. 


1 34  POEMS 

The  cattle  gazed  through  the  yard's  high  gate, 
As  they  seemed  for  the  milking  man  to  wait, 
With  half  concern  that  he  might  be  late. 

I  chanced  in  my  ramble  a  grove  to  pass, 
On  noiseless  feet,  o'er  the  soft,  moist  grass, 
And  the  leaves  were  shining  above  like  glass. 

Just  over  the  wall  was  a  graveyard  bed, 
With  sleepers  all  quiet/ long  cold  and  dead—  • 
"Your  morning  is  coming  sometime,"  I  said. 


THE  BROKEN  ROOF. 

Passing  an  old  home   in  Casco   during  a   windy  storm,  its 
forlorn  appearance  awoke  the  following  thoughts: 

house  neglected  stood,  all  friends  were  gone  ! 
And  wintry  winds  seemed  sporting  o'er  its  fate, 
Piling  the  snow  its  breaking  roofs  upon, 

And  round  the  lonesome  front  a  barrier  great. 
Alas,  poor  ruin  doomed  !  with  none  to  lift 

Thy  sinking  rafters  to  their  wonted  place, 
Or,  quickly  beat  away  the  heightening  drift- 
Then  from  the  window  look  with  cheerful  face. 


THE    BROKEN   ROOF  135 

Say,  three  decades  ago,  or  more — what  time 

Here  toiled,  and  ate,  and  slept  a  varied  flock  ? 
Parents  were  strong,  and  joyous  in  their  prime, 

Nor  knew  as  yet  the  harm  of  trouble's  shock. 
Here,  rocked  they  one  by  one,  the  jewels  lent, 

And  planned  their  sport  at  early  eventide  ; 
Then  later  watched  them  with  a  sweet  content, 

Around  the  chimney  playing  seek  and  hide ; 
And  here,  cold  death  with  unrelenting  hand 

Pressed  the  dear  pulses  of  some  living  joy  ! 
Spoiling  the  pleasure  of  the  happy  band, 

With  stealth  of  merry  girl,  or  sporting  boy. 

And,  here  perchance  have  lovers  woed,  and  won  ! 

Thinning  the  ranks  with  parting  grief  and  glee, 
Till  time  the  children  scattered  one  by  one, 

Like  branches  broken  from  the  parent  tree. 
Adversities  chill  shadow  must  have  come, 

Slowly  or  suddenly — unwelcome  sprite — 
Falling  in  darkness  o'er  this  old-time  home, 

To  scatter  all  away,  and  banish  light. 

And  I  self  chosen  scribe,  am  glad  to  be 

So  tender  where  my  kin  have  never  dwelt, 
As  to  pour  forth  in  brief  this  elergy, 

Which  those  who  loved  the  spot  departing  felt ; 
Go  on  old  time  !  thy  work  will  soon  be  o'er  ! 

The  reckless  wind  will  help  with  unseen  hands 
To  crush  the  falling  frame  to  sinking  floor, 

And  all  to  earth  where  now  it  trembling  stands. 


VICTORY. 

aged  saint  who  lay  with  speechless  tongue, 
Where  death  stood  ready  for  the  final  stroke, 
Was  asked  by  one  who  for  the  Savior  spoke, 

If  he  was  fearful,  or  to  what  he  clung? 

He  seized  a  pencil  from  his  things  among, 
And  tried  to  write  as  if -new  life  awoke  ; 
Once  and  again,  his  strength  to  weakness  broke, 

Yet  not  for  failure — Every  nerve  now  strung, 
He  makes  with  all  his  power  the  letter  V. 
And  then  in  triumph,  /and  (7,  he  cast ; 

"  Ah  ! "  said  the  minister,  "  I  know  it  now — 

'Thanks  be  to  God  who  gives  the  victory.'" 
The  pilgrim  smiled  assent — all  fear  was  passed, 
As  if  the  crown  already  touched  his  brow. 


THE  TWO  TRAVELLERS. 

piEY  wandered  both,  each  on  a  different  way, 
Though  both  as  children  near  together  trod 
With  guileless  hearts,  and  said  their  prayers  to  God- 
By  mothers  taught,  when  evening  closed  the  day. 
Now  these  old  faces  are  beneath  the  sod, 
And  the  grown  boys  from  broken  homes  astray. 
Both  have  had  favor,  both  affliction's  rod, 
But  one  is  sinful,  and  one  loves  to  pray. 

136 


THE   TWO   TRAVELLERS  137 

To  the  vain-hearted  thus  I  said  :  "My  friend, 

I  have  a  mission,  and  'tis  this,  to  ask 

Unto  what  portal  do  your  steps  attend, 

And  what  reward  at  length  for  life's  great  task 

Do  you  expect?"      His  answer  came:     " My  goal's  the 

grave, 

And  all  that  I  expect  in  life  I  have." 
He  yet  may  change,  my  sad  soul  prays  for  this. 
But  now  I  talked  with  him  whose  heart  is  right, 
W  ho  after  childhood  hid  from  heavenly  light, 
And  in  earth's  darkness  went  awhile  amiss ; 
Yet  turned  again  with  tears,  and  fixed  his  sight 
Upon  the  eternal  home  of  life  and  bliss. 
I  asked  him  also,  arm  in  arm  one  night, 
To  tell  me  plainly  of  that  hope  of  his. 
He  stood,  and  looked  upon  the  evening  star, 
Which  never  seemed  to  make  itself  so  grand — 
And  said,  "Beyond,  where  all  God's  glories  are, 
My  hopes  are  fastened  to  a  better  land  ; 
And  though  disease  and  death  may  intervene, 
They  are  but  as  this  glance  the  star  between." 


HEARING  OF  PARDON. 

IVE  me  some  bread,"  cried  a  rebel  scout, 
As  he  seized  the  rein  of  a  Union  steed  ; 
Long  had  he  tramped  the  woods  about, 
Now  only  bold  from  his  urgent  need. 


138  POEMS 

A  wasted  face,  and  his  sunken  eyes — 
As  he  stood  in  his  tattered  uniform, 

Holding  his  musket  coward-wise, 
Touched  the  federal  heart  so  warm. 

"  Go  to  the  village,"  the  soldier  said, 
"  A  little  yonder,  and  get  some  food." 

"What  !  a  rebel  deserter  ask  for  bread? 
I  dare  not  since  I  have  understood, 

From  federal  pickets,  no  man  can  come 
Into  tlieir  ranks  o'er  the  Union  lines  j 

And  I  a  deserter  would  die  at  home, 
But  fear  to  the  forest  my  feet  confines." 

Up  spake  the  Union  soldier  then — 
"  The  war  is  over,  and  there  is  peace  ! 

Lee  has  surrendered,  with  all  his  men, 

And  Lincoln  as  quickly  has  pardoned  these." 

"  The  war  is  over  !  and  can  it  be  ?  " 
He  said  as  he  flung  his  musket  down, 

With  a  cry  of  joy  like  a  captive  free, 
And  hurried  away  to  his  native  town. 

Rebels  are  we  from  the  grace  of  God, 
Starving  while  yet  we  may  freely  come  : 

For  peace  is  proclaimed  all  the  earth  abroad, 
How  sweet  to  believe,  and  then  go  home. 


IN  TIME  OF  NEED. 

stars  are  waiting  in  the  sky, 
While  day  is  o'er  us  sunny  bright, 
Since,  but  the  darkness  on  the  eye 

Can  draw  from  heaven  their  cheering  light. 
And,  we  forget  each  busy  day, 

With  hearts  so  clinging  to  the  sod, 
These  lamps  to  light  our  nightly  way, 
Kept  burning  by  a  favoring  God. 

So,  in  that  book  from  wisdom's  hand, 

How  many  promises  await ! 
Till  in  the  dark  we  understand 

Their  beauty  and  their  worth,  how  great. 
Amid  the  shades  of  mortal  pain, 

Or,  when  for  ours  life's  day  is  done, 
What  gems  that  always  there  remain, 

Flash  on  our  vision  one  by  one. 

SOMETIME,  SOMEWHERE. 
IMETIME,  I  cannot  tell  for  true 
The  season  when  the  joy  will  come  \ 
But  sometime,  and  it  seemeth  soon, 
I  shall  have  gained  the  scenes  of  home — - 
Street,  Palace,  Park,  and  friends  I  love ; 
But  best  of  all  the  Christ  I  serve. 
SOMEWHERE  I  better  know  the  place, 
Than  the  good  time  when  it  shall  be  ; 
Somewhere  on  earth  all  lovely  then, 
The  king  will  stoop  to  welcome  me ; 
And  what  faith's  eye  can  dimly  trace, 
Will  burst  all  glorious  on  my  face. 

139  April  9th,  1883. 


THE  ETERNAL  PROTECTION, 

UNDERNEATH  me  are  the  arms 

Of  my  everlasting  Father. 
How  they  press  me,  how  they  gather, 
While  his  love  my  being  charms ; 
Underneath,  and  folded  round  me — 
I  am  free  from  all  alarms, 
Since  my  heavenly  Father  found  me 
With  his  everlasting  arms. 

Underneath  me  are  his  arms — 
O,  how  strong  for  my  protection, 
How  far-reaching  in  affection, 
Snatching  me  from  all  that  harms. 
I  am  tended,  fed,  so  kindly, 
For  his  hands  are  with  his  arms ; 
I  am  led  when  walking  blindly, 
Through  the  storms  to  holy  calms, 

I  will  trust  my  Father's  arms, 
Sick,  I  know  he  knows  my  leaning, 
Prayers  unsaid,  he  sees  their  meaning, 
And  extends  his  open  palms ; 
Dying,  still  his  eye  will  seek  me, 
While  he  bringeth  soothing  balms ; 
And,  I  know  death  cannot  keep  me 
From  my  Father's  loving  arms. 


140 


THE  ANGELS  NEAR  US. 

the  angels  drop  through  the  spaces  wide 
To  visit  our  fallen  home, 
With  hearts  of  mercy  have  they  not  sighed 

O'er  the  scenes  of  grief  as  they  roam? 
Loitering  oft  from  their  noiseless  tread, 

Perhaps  in  some  lonely  room, 
Where  the  light  burns  low  by  a  sick  child's  bed, 
And  the  mother  alone  doth  come  ; 

What  can  they  do  but  breathe  their  peace, 

And  whisper  of  mortal's  woe, 
And  afar  from  heaven  let  pleasure  cease 

For  the  sorrow  that  reigns  below. 
Do  they  think  of  the  time  in  the  future  years 

When  the  woes  of  the  world  shall  end, 
And  out  of  this  sorrowing  v?.lley  of  tears 

The  sick,  and  the  sad  shall  ascend  ? 

If  the  angels  glide  through  the  spaces  wide, 

To  watch  o'er  our  mortal  lot, 
How  near  they  have  been  when  our  dear  ones  died, 

And  were  laid  in  the  burying  spot. 
They  have  seen  us  bend  o'er  the  marble  brow 

To  kiss  it  the  last  good-bye, 
And  they  know  that  our  hearts  are  sorrowing  now 

O'er  the  graves  that  around  us  lie. 

141 


142  POEMS 

Do  they  think  of  the  time  when  the  Lord  of  Hosts 

With  a  blast  that  shall  shiver  the  air, 
Will  send  them  searching  all  seas  and  coasts, 

And  the  lands  spread  everywhere  ? 
That  happy  myriads,  with  sorrow  gone, 

And  the  death-dust  left  away, 
May  be  borne  by  them  with  the  rising  morn 

To  the  new  and  eternal  day. 


IF  FAITH  AND  HOPE  WERE  DEAD. 

ANISH  faith,  the  great  joy-bringer, 

From  the  earth  a  little  while  ; 
Banish  hope,  the  sweet  heart-singer, 

How  the  world  would  lose  its  smile ; 
Boding  doubt,  and  fear,  and  madness, 
Every  bosom  sink  in  sadness. 

What  a  lonesome  world  were  ours, 

All  around,  yea,  all  around, 
Cheered  not  with  its  green  or  flowers 

Climbing  high  or  on  the  ground. 
Oh,  with  all  the  trees  and  flowers, 
What  a  lonesome  world  were  ours. 

Every  wind  a  wailing  spirit, 

Here  unseen  would  fret  the  ears  ; 

Song,  or  sermon,  who  could  hear  it, 
Solemn  as  a  sea  of  tears ; 

While  the  waves  on  every  shore 

Sigh,  as  moans  the  windy  roar. 


IF   FAITH  AND   HOPE  WERE   D»AD  143 

Yea,  what  grief  in  every  river, 

Slow  or  swift  to  onward  flow, 
Sobbing  if  to  creep,  to  shiver, 

If  to  leap  and  fall  below ; 
Black  and  hungry  for  the  living, 
To  the  tide  their  bodies  giving. 

Hopeless  world  with  no  relief, 

Not  a  voice  to  soothe  thy  pain ; 
Where  bold  death,  the  heartless  chief, 

Leadeth  on  his  funeral  train, 
To  the  place  where  hopeless  moans 
Drop  above  the  buried  bones. 

Neighbor  calls  to  ask  his  neighbor, 

"What  is  life  to  you  and  me? 
Birth  in  sorrow,  years  of  labor, 

Awful  death,  then  cease  to  be, 
Earth  into  her  dark  to  take  us, 
Where  no  call  shall  ever  wake  us." 

But,  with  faith,  the  great  joy  bringer, 

Here  in  earth  a  little  while, 
And  with  hope,  the  sweet  heart-singer, 

Every  face  can  wear  a  smile ; 
For  beyond  our  years  of  sadness, 
These  do  find  a  world  of  gladness. 


GRACE. 

[OD'S  grace  is  free  as  the  flowing  air, 
Which  we  by  faith  have  access  to ; 
Wherein  we  stand,  and  his  name  declare, 
Rejoicing  the  glory  of  heaven  to  view. 

Grace  to  keep  us,  O  power  so  strong ! 

The  devil  trembles  before  the  face 
Of  Him,  who  moves  through  the  world  along, 

Covered,  and  kept  with  abundant  grace. 

Grace  enough  for  our  sorest  need — 

We  can  smile  with  this  under  pangs  of  pain, 

And  face  bold  Death  on  his  rough-hoofed  steed, 
Who  rideth  over  his  millions  slain. 

Grace  in  the  grave  'neath  the  mossy  stones — 
All  unforgotten  though  ages  slide  ; 

The  hairs  all  numbered,  with  flesh  and  bones, 
Yet  out  of  the  restin  place  to  glide. 

Grace,  free  grace,  sufficient  for  thee, — 
Grace  to-day  is  the  name  of  the  throne  ; 

And  because  of  grace  is  our  heaven-sent  plea — 
"  By  grace  through  faith  "  we  are  saved  alone. 

144 


SPACES. 

IE  sky  and  earth  seem  far  apart, 
Yet  they  so  near  together  lie, 
That  sky-gleams  o'er  the  landscape  dart, 
And  hills  are  ladders  to  the  sky. 

The  years  before  us  stretch  away 
In  measured  journeys  one  by  one  ; 

But  as  they  pass  we  turn  and  say, 
Time  is  an  age  with  spaces  gone. 

The  day  that  dear  one  died,  and  now — 
How  long  the  distance  seems  between  ! 

And  memory  fails  to  hold  the  brow 
As  clearly  as  it  last  was  seen  ; 

But,  if  we  wait,  shall  come  to  naught 

What  hangs  between  the  depth,  and  height ; 

The  past  shall  to  the  front  be  brought, 
And  darkness  haste  to  meet  the  light ; 

While  memory,  blinded  by  delay, 
Shall  dawn  to  clearest  sight  at  last, 

When  our  lost  glories  in  a  day 
Leap  from  the  chasm  of  the  past. 


145 


146  POEMS 

And  other  joys  we  never  tried, 
The  endless  future  shall  unfold, 

With  every  wish  so  satisfied 

In  pleasures  new,  mixed  with  the  old. 

And  in  perpetual  friendliness, 

The  years  of  time  shall  be  forgot; 

And  spaces  of  our  sore  distress 

All  lost  as  though  we  had  them  not. 


DUST  ON  MY  GLASSES. 

)OKING  about  my  room  one  day 
As  sitting  down  to  write  awhile, 
I  said  in  my  accustomed  way 

What  thought  shall  now  this  hour  beguile  ? 

When  quickly  by  misshapen  things, 

So  indistinct  before  my  sight — 
The  muse  this  thought  upon  me  flings, 

Of  dust  upon  your  glasses  write. 

Well,  surely  somewhat  may  be  said 
Thought  I,  on  such  a  theme  as  this  ! 

For,  everywhere  I  turn  my  head 
All  objects  seem  to  be  amiss. 


BUST   ON   MY   GLASSES  147 

The  fault  is  mine — on  other  days 

It  hath  not  been  to  me  the  same — 
I  see  the  fault  is  in  my  gaze, 

And  I  alone  must  bear  the  blame ; 

The  table  has  no  crooked  legs — 

Nor  are  the  chairs  half  cut  away — 
The  ceiling  is  not  filled  with  pegs — 

My  paper  is  not  white,  and  gray — 

The  clothes  that  hang  upon  the  rack 

Are  clean,  although  they  seem  so  soiled  J 

The  one  that  washed  them  is  not  slack, 
Thus,  all  things  by  my  specs  are  spoiled. 

Well,  well !  again  this  fact  I  learn, 

Defects  in  others,  we  surmise 
To  fill  our  minds  with  deep  concern — 

When  all  the  blame  is  near  our  eyes. 

I  wipe  my  glasses  off,  and  then 

How  changed  the  room  appears  to  me — 

The  malformed  objects  that  had  been, 
Have  taken  better  shape  I  see  ; 

So,  should  we  learn  not  to  despise 
The  seeming  faults  that  may  appear, 

Till  we  ourselves,  have  cleaned  our  eyes 
To  look  at  folks  with  vision  clear. 


LIFE'S  COMMON  WAYS. 

ways  our  fathers  trod  we  too  must  thread, 
Their  ups,  and  downs,  and  sometimes  desert  roads 
If  choosing  others,  such  we  may  not  tread, 
They  leave  their  tracks,  and  all  their  heavy  loads 
Fall  on  our  backs,  regardless  of  our  dread. 

They  met  with  poverty,  we  share  the  same  ; 
Earth  yields  to  us  through  labor  as  to  them. 
We  meet  with  praise  from  some,  from  others  blame, 
They  passed  not  onward  with  a  spotless  fame, 
The  Evil,  evil  love,  the  good  condemn. 

They  had  their  sicknesses,  the  fever  burned — 
Consumption  wasted,  and  a  thousand  ills 
Pressed  sorely  on  them,  wheresoe'r  they  turned, 
These  were  their  valleys  dim,  and  rugged  hills  ; 
And  we,  the  same  dark  ways  have  sadly  learned. 

They  had  their  graves,  the  places  where  they  wept, 
And  where  the  lines  of  care  on  cheek  and  brow 
Grew  daily  deeper  over  those  that  slept, 
And  silent  chambers  in  the  soul  they  kept 
In  memory  of  the  lost,  as  we  keep  now. 

148 


"IF   HE   WOULD   COiME"  149 

But  they  had  hope  that  after  life's  rough  day, 
Their  hills  and  valleys  left  afar  behind — 
The  Calvary  Friend  would  meet  them  in  the  way, 
And  stretching  forth  his  loving  hand  would  say, 
Thrice  welcome  ye,  a  better  world  to  find. 

So  we  expect  beyond  life's  common  round, 
Earth's  pilgrimages  done,  and  Jondan  crossed, 
Our  feet  may  press  the  walks  of  garden  ground, 
Led  by  the  Rightful  King  all  glory  crowned, 
Happy  with  those  we  once  have  had  and  lost. 


"IP  HE  WOULD  COME!" 

He  would  come,  the  fairer  of  the  fairest, 
How  would  His  face  our  longing  eyes  rejoice  ; 
If  He  would  come,  who  spake  with  words  the  rarest 
That  ever  rang  on  earth,  with  sweetest  voice — 

If  He  would  come,  who  holdeth  life  a  treasure 
For  all  the  holy  dead,  who  wait  his  time  ; 

Abundant  in  its  happiness,  and  measure — 
All,  like  his  own,  eternal,  and  sublime — 

If  He  would  come,  who  came  as  Satan's  master, 
To  drive  him  hence,  and  rid  the  earth  of  sin, 

How  would  our  shouts  extol  the  glad  disaster — 
If  He  would  come,  and  soon  his  reign  begin. 


150  POEMS 

We  tire  of  sore  defeat,  with  Him  far  from  us, 
After  each  struggle  in  our  fallen  state — 

Hope  only  keeps  us  fastened  to  his  promise — 
That  he  will  come,  and  all  things  new  create. 

All  earthly  kingdoms  mock  our  expectation, 

Misrule,  and  bloodshed  keep  our  praises  dumb ; 

If  He  would  plant  his  throne  for  every  nation 

For  praise — our  prayer  would  cease,  "  Thy  kingdom 
come." 

Beneath  His  feet,  I  know  all  earth  would  gladden, 
Beneath  His  smile,  the  wastes  rise  into  bloom — 

Under  His  sway  no  more  could  sorrow  sadden, 
Nor  tyrant  Death  demand  a  dreary  tomb. 

Aye  !  then  on  hills,  and  in  the  glades  elysian, 
What  troops  of  angels  would  delight  to  move, 

Who  hold  themselves  aloof  from  mortal  vision, 
Yet  yearn  to  take  us  to  their  arms  of  love  ! 

If  He  would  come  what  faith  hath  failed  discerning, 
And  hope  hath  never  grasped  to  make  her  sing, 

Will  be  revealed — O,  for  our  Lord's  returning, 
That  He  all  goodness  to  our  world  may  bring. 


ANOTHER  DAY. 

»LD  Earth,  we  know,  shall  have  another  day ; 

Her  trembling  age — if  good  the  voice  of  Truth- 
Shall,  by  the  help  of  Heaven,  pass  away, 

And  she  take  on  again  the  strength  of  youth ; 
We  hear  her  groans  along  the  dying  years, 
As  she  hath  shed,  like  Autumn  skies,  her  tears. 

But,  Earth,  take  heart,  thou  shalt  be  young  again, 
And  doff  thy  robes  of  mourning  with  a  smile  ; 

Glad  to  forget  all  weariness  and  pain, 

And  know  they  come  not  back  the  endless  while ; 

The  trees  shall  clap  their  hands  for  very  joy, 

That  sin  and  death  can  never  more  destroy. 

Where  are  thy  graveyards?     Emptied  of  their  prey  : 
Where  are  thy  tears?     Dried  by  a  hand  divine  : 

Where  are  thy  sorrows  ?     They  all  went  away 

When  graves  were  spoiled,  and  saints  arose  to  shine  ; 

The  hills  re-echo  now,  as  these,  one  throng, 

Rehearse  their  victories  the  plains  along. 

Spring  now,  ye  flowers,  for  winters  never  come  : 

Be  not  afraid,  O  sky,  of  stormy  clouds  : 
Mothers,  your  babes  are  safely  all  at  home, 

And  looms  are  weaving  here  no  coffin  shrouds  : 
Yonder  is  lifted  high  a  kingly  throne, 
And  Christ  is  there,  with  all  the  earth  his  own. 

151 


152  POEMS 

Where  is  the  king  that  was?  in  black  attire — 
Where  are  the  host  that  marshalled  at  his  word  ? 

Perished  forever  in  the  lake  of  fire  ; 

And  naught  but  praise  from  any  tongue  is  heard. 

O  Earth,  take  heart,  thou  shalt  be  new  again  ! 

Thousands  of  voices  cry  for  this — Amen. 


THE  AGE  TO  COME. 

pERE  yet  shall  rise  an  orb  with  all  its  parts 
Completer  than  the  ages  back  have  known 
*  A  glimpse  by  faith  of  which  how  many  hearts 
Has  raptured  glory  lit  from  Heaven's  throne, 
And  now  with  joy  my  earth- worn  spirit  starts. 

Are  these  Jie  olden  skies,  with  purer  blue  ? 
Is  this  the  other  earth,  with  fairer  face  ? 
Hath  the  old  story,  told  so  long,  come  true  ? 
That  the  lost  glory  Heaven  would  replace — 
Dropped  in  a  sentence  "  I  make  all  things  new»" 

Are  these  the  flowers  not  to  know  a  frost  ? 
And  tints  majestic  that  no  blight  can  reach? 
Is  this  the  Eden  that  our  Adam  lost — 
Surpassing  all  the  praise  of  golden  speech, 
The  gain  for  what  the  pain  of  Calvary  cost  ? 


WHAT    HAS    BEEN   MAY    BE   AGAIN  153 

Are  these  the  patriarchs,  and  these  the  seers — 
Sons  of  the  Orient  from  their  moss-grown  caves? 
Come  there,  the  martyrs,  once  of  blood  and  tears, 
But  made  all  glorious  from  their  fiery  graves ; 
Harvest,  how  great,  of  grace,  for  stormy  years. 

And  here  are  faces  that  were  hid  from  me, — 
And  voices  that  were  silent,  O  so  long, 
Smiling  in  peace,  from  every  danger  free, 
And  singing  sweetly  'mid  the  countless  throng — 
'Twere  more  titan  half  a  heaven  mine  own  to  see. 

But  it  will  take  the  years  of  that  fair  home 

To  find  its  glories,  and  express  them  all  j 

I  only  long  amid  its  scenes  to  roam, 

And  view  its  treasures  rare,  or  great,  or  small— 

Knowing  to  end  such  joy  no  curse  can  come. 


WHAT  HAS  BEEN  MAY  BE  AGAIN. 

1ARTH,  under  the  eye  of  its  Maker, 

Though  under  a  lifeless  sea, 
Heard  the  voice  of  God's  spirit  calling, 
And  came  by  itself  to  be. 

As  new  mornings  flashed  above  it, 

Leading  the  first  days  forth, 
It  grew  inbo  wondrous  beauty, 

And  was  finished,  a  fair,  new  earth. 


154  POEMS 

It  was  blest  by  the  lips  of  the  Maker, 
When  fit  for  the  purest  of  men. 

And  heavenly  feet  walked  upon  it ; 
And  what  has  been,  may  be  again. 


AN  ENDLESS  SUMMER-TIME. 

SUMMER  of  life  is  coming 

When  this  winter  of  death  is  gone, 
And  a  song  of  joy  I  am  humming, 

For  the  birth  of  that  summer-land  morn. 

A  summer  of  birds,  and  flowers, 
When  old  frosty  time  goes  by, 

And  I  sing  for  the  birds  in  the  bowers, 
As  I  trust  that  the  time  draweth  nigh. 

A  summer  of  smiles  is  nearing, 
For  the  winter  so  drear,  of  tears  ; 

And  I  sing  for  my  own  heart's  cheering, 
Of  the  end  of  the  sorrowful  years. 

A  summer  of  bliss  with  the  parted, 
As  the  winter  of  graves  is  no  more ; 

Not  a  sigh  that  shall  say  weary- hearted, 
From  a  lip  on  the  sutnmer-land  shore. 

'Tis'for  all  who  are  living  to  gain  it, 
For  Christ  is  the  sun  of  that  sky  ; 

In  His  light  we  can  press  to  attain  it — 
The  summer-land  drawing  so  nigh. 


"ALL  THINGS  NEW." 

has  been  the  ruin  now  for  ages, 
Because  of  sin,  by  disobedience  born ; 
And  sky,  and  earth,  and  sea  have  felt  the  woe, 
But  faith  has  brought  man  hope,  and  peering  through, 
He  sees  the  darkness  lifting,  and  the  health  of  heaven 
Spread  like  a  garb  of  light  o'er  all  below. 


These  rugged  places  made  by  earth's  upheavals, 
Become  new  fashioned  for  man's  foot  and  eye  ; 
Because  'tis  said,  "  See,  I  make  all  things  new  ! " 
And  trees  in  rich  variety,  weighted  with  fruit, 
With  fields  that  ask  no  help  to  make  them  grow, 
And  flowers  everywhere  in  varying  hue. 

The  heavens  garnished  over  with  new  light, 

Lose  angry  clouds,  left  all  behind  with  time ; 

For  God  had  said,  "  See,  I  make  all  things  new  !  " 

A  seven-fold  splendor  flashes  o'er  the  sky, 

Yet  softer  brilliancy  the  sun  takes  on 

As  the  old  light  comes  back  which  God  withdrew. 

155 


156  POEMS 

New  beings  cover  now  the  all-glowing  earth, 

Happy  as  angels,  and  with  life  as  long  ; 

Because  'twas  said,  "  See,  I  make  all  things  new  !  " 

They  have  the  beauty  of  the  world's  great  king — 

All  taint  of  former  ills  forever  gone, 

As  they  have  nothing  more  with  sin  to  do. 


The  New  Jerusalem  shall  be  earth's  city  then, 

Bright  capital  of  all  the  round  domain  ; 

When  God  as  he  has  said  makes  "  all  things  new  !  " 

Gold,  pearls,  and  every  sort  of  precious  stone, 

Are  there  for  beauty,  strength,  and  joy, — 

A  mingled  glory  evermore  to  view. 

New  laws  go  forth  from  out  the  central  throne, 
Placed  now  to  stay  in  brightness,  peace  and  love ; 
For  God  hath  said,  "  See,  I  make  all  things  new  !" 
The  harmony  of  heaven  is  now  world- wide — 
And  that  sweet  prophecy,  so  long  a  prayer, 
"  Thy  will  be  done  in  earth,"  is  here  corne  true. 


NOT  YET. 

| HE  days  go  by  and  earthly  suns  still  set, 

And  the  cold  stars  shine  down  into  our  night ; 
That  face  of  faces  brightens  earth  not  yet, 
With  a  new  dawn  of  never-ending  light. 


NOT   YET  157 

And  so,  the  same  old  ills  creation  fret, 

The  curse  still  clinging  with  relentless  hold  • 

The  great  Joy-Bringer  brings  his  joy  not  yet, 
Sickness  is  on  us,  and  our  graves  are  cold. 

Storms  are  in  all  our  skies,  hoarse  winds  beget, 
And  nature  trembles  as  the  floods  alarm ; 

The  promised  calm  of  ages  comes  not  yet, 
The  dirge  is  mingled  with  the  holiest  psalm. 

Men  earnest  to  behold  the  day  of  days 

Have  studied  long,  and  many  dates  have  met, 

But  years  move  on  in  their  appointed  ways, 
To  turn  with  just  rebuke  and  say  "Not  yet." 

God's  clock  is  hid,  that  strikes  the  hour  of  doom, 

But  omens  rise,  he  bids  us  not  forget ; 
And  so  we  watch  and  cry,  "  There  still  is  room, 

Haste  to  the  shelter  while  he  comes  not  yet." 

But  he  will  come,  some  morn,  or  noon,  or  night 
Jesus  thus  waits  with  expectation  sweet. 

Then,  all  the  earth  will  glow  with  heavenly  light, 
As  myriads  worship  at  his  kingly  feet. 


QUESTIONS. 

death  to  life  is  but  the  gate, 

Why  come  we  thence  with  faltering  feet ; 
lat  weary  stop,  and  seem  to  wait 
Unready  for  the  golden  street? 

And  why  in  languor  close  the  eyes, 
As  the  last  sickness  wastes  the  frame  ? 

So  near  the  fields  of  Paradise, 

One  would  suspect  them  all  aflame  ! 

Why  sinks  the  voice  from  vigorous  tone, 
To  broken  whispers,  short,  and  slow, 

So  soon  to  shout  before  the  throne, 
Where  the  faint  talker  hastes  to  go  ? 

Why  dieth  sound  upon  the  ear — 

Even  the  tones  of  sweetest  love, 
ff  it  be  just  prepared  to  hear 

The  noise  of  multitudes  above  ? 

Why  fainter  beat  the  pulses  all, 

As  ebbs,  and  cools  the  channelled  tide  ? 

Why  every  power  of  being  fall, 
If  but  an  hour  the  worlds  divide  ? 

1S8 


QUESTIONS  159 

What  other  being  waits  to  take 

Such  dying  life  from  senseless  clay? 

What  other  eyes  than  these  can  wake 
To  visions  of  immortal  day? 

Is  life  self  organized,  and  blest 

With  other  faculties  of  sense, 
That  it  may  lay  its  flesh  to  rest, 

And  pass  through  death  as  perfect,  hence  ? 

Was  Jesus  wrong,  and  sainted  Paul, 
In  making  the  sweet  goal  perfection, 

For  beings  good,  the  great,  and  small, 
The  happy  hour  of  resurrection  ? 

Why  not  then  say,  they  only  sleep  ! 

Leaving  their  life  in  Jesus' trust? 
He  surely  all  his  own  will  keep, 

Till  death  dies  from  them  in  the  dust- 
So,  swings  the  gate  to  paradise, 

At  Jesus's  voice — by  Jesus's  hand, 
And  victors — Saints  from  death  arise  ; 

How  long  shall  we  not  understand  ? 


NOTHING     IMMORTAL     UNDER     THESE 
SKIES. 

Dr.  Parker  of  London,  says: — "Don't  expect  too  much 
from  earth !  This  aero  of  which  Death  has  taken  a  lease  for 
all  time,  is  not  spacious  enough  to  grow  fruits  on  which  im- 
mortality can  feed." 

JHERE  is  never  a  leaf  on  the  trees,  but  it  fades  j 

There  is  never  a  rose,  but  it  dies ; 
There  is  death  on  the  hills,  there  is  death  in  the  glades ; 
There  is  nothing  immortal  under  these  skies. 

So,  we  cherish  with  hands  that  grow  weary  and  fall 
Like  the  swset  things  they  care  for  and  prize  ; 

Ah  !  here  nothing  will  last,  there  is  death  doom  for  all ; 
There  is  nothing  immortal  under  these  skies. 

The  ocean  is  old,  though  it  goes  not  away, 

And  the  rocks  may  not  wasting  disguise, 
Nature  has  not  one  thing  that  can  laugh  at  decay  ; 

There  is  nothing  immortal  under  these  skies. 

We  cling  to  dear  hands  with  the  strength  of  our  heart, 

And  love  findeth  love  in  dear  eyes  ; 
Yet,  here  are  no  pathways  but  dying  will  part ; 

There  is  nothing  immortal  under  these  skies. 

But  the  boon  is  in  store,  and  a  voice  shall  be  heard, 

For  God  is  not  deaf  to  our  cries  ; 
We  wait,  and  earth  waits  for  the  life-giving  word, 

To  sound  forth  in  grandeur  under  these  skies. 

160 


LIFE'S  VALUE  161 

Then  the  hills  shall  rejoice,  and  the  valleys  be  glad, 

When  our  Lord  shall  with  glory  baptize, 
And  lift  up  the  earth  from  her  ruin  so  sad, 

And  chase  all  the  shadows  from  under  these  skies. 

O,  we  joy  in  the  thought  that  the  promise  is  sure 

Of  God's  purpose  and  plan  seen  so  wise, 
That  "creation  itself"  with  the  good  shall  endure 

Forever  immortal,  all  under  these  skies. 


LIFE'S  VALUE. 

)OK  up  !  poor  sod-worm,  turn  thine  ear — 

I  have  some  words  for  thee  most  sweet, 
The  Savior  left  that  you  might  hear ; 

They  are — "The  life  is  more  than  meat." 

How  much  you  strive,  how  much  you  delve  ! 

And  day  by  day,  the  round  repeat ; 
To  lay  up  treasure  for  yourself — 

But  'tis  "  the  life  is  more  than  meat." 

What  shall  it  profit  if  attained — 

This  world  whereon  poor  mortals  beat  ? 

If  life  be  lost,  with  all  that's  gained — 
Ah,  sir  !  "the  life  is  more  than  meat." 


1 62  POEMS 

See  !  other  lands  more  fair  than  these 
Invite  your  earthworn,  tired  feet ; 

And  you  may  gain  them,  if  you  please 
To  count  this  life  as  "  more  than  meat." 

Brief  is  the  day,  O  son  of  toil ! 

Pile  treasure  where  no  rust  can  eat ! 
"Nor  thief  approach  "  to  gain  thy  spoil ; 

And  know  that  "  life  is  more  than  meat." 


THE  LIFE  WILL  TELL. 

Plato,  being  told  that  he  had  an  enemy  who  spoke  ill  of 
him,  said,  "I  will  live  in  such  a  manner  that  none  will  be- 
lieve him." 

^E  would  go  forth  before  the  world, 

So  honest  in  his  dealing, 
"hat  should  the  tale  abroad  be  hurled 

That  he  in  trade  is  stealing, 
His  present  and  his  future  days, 
Should  counteract  the  feeling. 

He  would  so  nicely  guard  his  word 

In  all  his  conversation, 
That  should  report  abroad  be  heard — 

He  is  false  in  declaration, 
His  neighbors  all  to  duty  stirred, 

Would  rise  in  their  vexation. 


THE   LIFE   WILL   TELL  163 

He  would  so  mild  and  cheerful  be, 

And  even  in  his  spirit, 
That  all  with  whom  he  meets  might  see 

He  something  doth  inherit, 
Which  helpeth  nature  wondrously, 

Insulted,  thus  to  bear  it. 

As  a  good  book,  when  studied  well, 

Our  interest  engages, 
Aye,  so  a  good  man's  life  we  tell 

With  all  its  open  pages. 
Such  lives,  the  devil  cannot  sell, 

And  that  is  why  he  rages. 


SEEKING  FOR  A  MAN. 

JELL,  once  an  old  philosopher 
With  a  lantern  in  his  hand, 
Went  searching  in  the  day-time, 
All  up  and  down  the  land — 

Of  course  the  crowd  was  round  him, 

Both  in  his  rear,  an^t  van  ; 
And  pressed  from  him  this  object, 

I'm  searching  for  a  man. 

The  titled  Greeks  unnoticed, 

He  passed — this  famous  clan- 
Still,  searching  with  his  candle- 
Hoping  to  find  a  man. 


1 64  POEMS 

I  trust  at  length  he  found  him, 
Unheralded  no  doubt — 

Honest,  and  true,  in  all  ways ; 
Then  blew  his  candle  out. 

This  lesson  is  suggestive  ! 

Not  all  who  move  in  fame, 
Are  men,  because  of  titles 

That  hang  about  the  name  ; 

Ye  are  not  sure  that  justice 
Will  follow  an  esquire, 

Or,  that  he  will  promote  the  peace. 
The  good  so  much  admire  ! 

And  now,  as  in  old  story, 
I  would  suggest  the  plan, 

That  you  would  take  a  lantern 
Before  you  praise  a  man. 


OUR  BUSY  DEVIL. 

IO  idle,  settled  sprite  is  mister  Devil, 

Although  his  throne  may  be  the  seat  of  evil. 
So  it  is  written — and  we  have  no  doubt 
That  "like  a  roaring  lion  he  goeth  about;  " 
With  lightening  speed,  methinks  he  makes  his  beat, 
Or  round  the  country,  or  in  city's  street, 
Gliding  meanwhile  through  many  a  merchant's  shop, 
He  doth  short  measures,  and  false  balance  drop. 
Places  for  drink,  where  many  buy  and  sell 
Are  but  his  taverns  on  the  road  to  hell. 
In  courts,  below  where  scales  of  justice  poise — 
He  rules  for  power,  and  pleads  with  lying  noise  ; 
And,  oft  among  the  twelve,  he  crushes  hope 
By  bribing  Judas,  truth,  and  right  to  stop. 
Look  to  yourselves,  some  will  be  crying  out, 
As  I  the  devil  chase  thus  all  about ; 
Alas  !  you  do  not  catch  me  unawares  ! 
He  softly  climbeth  over  pulpit  stairs, 
And  counterfeits  the  truth,  or  keeps  it  back — 
For  either  work,  he  has  a  pious  knack. 
He  hates  the  Christ,  and  will  whene'r  he  can 
Make  preachers,  preach  him  only  as  a  man. 
He  hates  his  coming,  so  he  keeps  them  dumb, 
Or  helps  them  lie  in  saying  he  has  come — 
He  hates  his  kingdom,  being  wise  to  know 
The  reign  of  Christ  at  once  will  his  o'erthrow — 

185 


1 66  POEMS 

And  so  he  substitutes,  for  some  who  preach 
False  views  of  truth,  to  put  into  their  speech — 
He  gets  into  the  pews — he  goes  to  church — 
You  never  catch  the  devil  in  a  lurch  — 
He  gets  into  the  pews  with  cloak  of  pride- 
He  gets  into  the  pews,  saints  to  divide — 
He  gets  into  the  pews  with  amorous  eyes ; 
And  pulpits  too — shall  we  this  fact  disguise? 
He  starts,  no  doubt,  the  fairs  and  church  levees, 
Church  dancing,  whist,  and  all  the  pious  sprees ; 
He  goeth  everywhere,  'twill  take  too  long 
For  us  to  follow  out  his  every  course  in  wrong. 
What  shall  we  do  to  check  him  all  about  ? 
Right  where  we  are  begin  to  cast  him  out ! 
One  Name  he  trembles  at !  meet  him  with  this, 
And  in  this  name  we  may  abide  in  peace. 


YOUR  MISSION. 

[HERE'S  a  wanderer  waiting  somewhere, 

Weary  of  world-wide  sin — 
And  never  one  spake  of  the  heavenly  door, 

Who  asked  him  to  enter  in  ; 
Or  whispered  the  name  of  Jesus 
To  put  a  charm  in  his  heart ; 
It  may  be  if  you  should  find  him, 
For  the  holy  home  he  would  start. 


YOUR  MISSION  167 

There's  a  weary  and  fainting  spirit, 

Worn  with  a  world-wide  pain — 
And  nobody's  hand  has  the  merit 

For  chafing  the  long- fevered  brain  ; 
It  may  be  if  you  should  find  him, 

And  now  you  must  search,  and  be  quick 
To  tell  him  of  lands  that  are  coming, 

"  Where  none  ever  say  I  am  sick." 


For  this  his  poor  heart  might  grow  firmer, 

And  his  eye  kindle  fire  to  see 
Sure  places  for  hope's  waiting  anchor — 

What  a  joy  then  for  him  and  for  thee. 
Ah  !  the  leaves  of  life's  tree  are  for  healing, 

And  often  though  far  from  its  shade, — 
We  may  fancy  its  virtue  comes  stealing 

Through  souls  that  in  sorrow  have  laid. 


There  are  eyes  that  have  tears  in  their  beauty, 

And  they  know  but  one  way  that  is  trod — 
You  know  the  fair  path  of  our  duty 

That  leads  to  the  mansions  of  God  ; 
Go  whisper  such  words  as  are  needful, 

And  push  thus  the  tear-drops  away — 
Twill  be  glorious  to  guide  up  the  strangers 

To  the  portals  of  soon-coming  day. 


I 68  POEMS 

I  am  thinking  our  soul's  sweetest  pleasure, 

'Mid  the  throngs  of  the  after- time — 
Surpassing  the  skies,  or  the  landscape, 

Or  the  songs  of  the  holier  clime, 
Will  be  to  find  with  the  saved  ones 

Some  one  we  took  by  the  hand, 
And  told  them  back  in  earth's  darkness 

The  way  to  a  happier  land. 


HOW  TO  TEACH. 

if  a  child  should  sit  upon  your  knee, 
With  earnest  face  in  yours  to  ask  for  knowledge, 
And  you  had  never  learned,  perhaps,  to  be 

Wise  to  explain  as  one  who  comes  from  college. 

What  if  this  child  should  ask  hjow  God  made  man, 
For  mamma  told  her  he  was  God's  creation. 

"  Out  of  the  dust,"  would  you  not  say,  nor  plan 
A  puzzle  with  some  higher  explanation?" 

Then  what  if  she  should  ask, "  What  makes  man  die?" 
How  easy  come  the  words  you  are  beginning,— 

"  In  hearing  and  obeying  Satan's  lie, 

'  Unto  the  dust  he  must  return '  for  sinning." 


HOW   TO    TEACH          •  169 

Then  she  might  ask  if  man  will  live  some  more, 

As  well  she  could  after  a  brief  reflection, 
How  nice  to  say,  "  God  will  the  man  restore 

To  life  and  being  by  the  resurrection." 

And  now  I  see  her  eyes  wide  open  set, 

To  ask  of  that  big  word — what  is  the  meaning? 

And  as  you  strive  to  tell,  your  eyes  get  wet, 

While  hers  with  wonder  have  increased  their  beaming. 

You  say,  "  You  know  we  put  your  mamma  down 
Into  the  grave,  and  had  to  come  and  leave  her ; 

And  Mr.  Jones,  the  sexton  of  the  town, 

Buried  her  up."     You  will  not  here  d-eceive  her. 

"  Now  mamma,"  you  continue,  honest  hearted, 

"  Shall  from  her  grave  again  to  us  arise — 
To  you,  my  darling,"  and  the  tears  have  started 

Of  joy,  with  sorrow  mingled  in  her  eyes. 

So  truth  is  easy,  and  it  comfort  gives  ; 

Tell  it  to  children  when  they  ask  for  knowledge, 
Just  how  the  Bible  says  man  dies  and  lives, 

Nor  wait  to  ask  some  man  that  comes  from  college. 


GENESIS. 

>OK  of  the  earth's  beginning  !   born  from  eternal 

night — 
Christened  with  dews  of  morning,  and  wrapped  in  garments 

of  light, 
Bedecked  with  green  spreading  carpets,  tasselled  all  o'er 

with  trees, 

The  foliage  and  fruitage  perfect,  cradled  in  every  breeze- 
Book  of  the  brilliant  heavens  !  with  sun,  and  moon,  and 

star — 
Silent  rulers  of  day  and  night,  regarding  the  world  from 

afar — 

Book  of  uneasy  waters,  that  filled  all  the  depth  below 
With  their  varied  tribes  of  living  shapes,  onmoving  to  arrd 

fro! 
Book   of  the   feathered  songsters  !    and  birds  of  heavier 

wing — 
Book   of  the   beasts,  and   cattle  !  and  "  every  creeping 

thing" — 

Book  of  the  first  man  living  in  the  likeness  of  his  God  ! 
The  king  of  all  else  about  him,  that  wandered  o'er  sand, 

or  sod ; 
Formed  of  the  dust  beneath  him,  yet  filled  with  his  maker's 

breath, 
Roaming   his   paradise  dwelling  with  never  a   dream  of 

death ; 

Feasting  his  eyes  on  beauty,  his  lips  on  the  choicest  meat 
Blushing  within  the   foliage  outspread   o'er  the   garden 

street ; 

1TO 


GENESIS  171 

Book  of  the  beautiful  woman  that  sprang  from  man's  sleep- 
ing side  ! 

Made  as  "an  help  meet  for  him,"  and  brought  as  an  angel- 
bride. 

Born  of  his  bone,  he  loved  her,  and  flesh  of  his  flesh,  as 
Heaven 

Circled  the  two  they  worshipped,  Him  who  such  pleasure 
had  given. 

Closed  was  the  work  of  creation,  and  wide  over  sea,  and 
the  earth, 

The  Designer,  and  Maker  of  all  things,  with  joy  on  the 
whole  looked  forth 

To  behold  what  was  made  in  beauty,  all  alive  in  the  hap- 
piest mood  j 

So  He  spake,  the  All-Perfect,  His  blessing,  and  "  called 
everything  very  good." 

Then,  was  the  Sabbath  of  ages,  when  God  from  his  labor 
had  stayed, 

In  the  hallowed  day  that  He  rested  from  all  He  created, 
and  made. 


EARTH'S  GLOOMIEST  DAY. 

)ME  near,  O  Sun  with  thy  remembering  ray, 

And  picture  for  my  ear  earth's  gloomiest  day ! 
Earth's  gloomiest  day — Ah  !  could  you  hear  me  tell 
Of  that  dark  noon,  when  such  a  horror  fell, 
That  I  my  face  withdrew  from  off  the  scene, 
And  night  her  mantle  threw  amazed  between. 


172  POEMS 

I  rose  to  look  across  fair  Palestine 

Where  I  had  played  so  oft  with  tree  and  vine. 

And  chased  the  shade  over  the  hills,  and  sea — 

Then  left  my  brightness  on  her  Galilee ; 

As  o'er  Jerusalem  I  fixed  my  glance, 

I  saw  a  Roman  horseman's  quick  advance — 

And  mitred  priests  long-robed  in  conclave  met, 

Low  talking  through  their  teeth  in  anger  set ; 

Pilate  their  governor  making  haste  for  home 

To  meet  his  wife  beneath  the,  palace  dome 

With  wringing  hands,  and  palor  on  her  brow, 

To  say  to  her  'tis  done — though  faultless  now. 

******* 

Nine  o'clock,  and  all  is  ready — 

Cross,  and  spikes,  and  carnifex  ; 
Now  ye  soldiers  brave,  and  steady, 

Take  the  limb  that  each  selects  ! 
Lay  Him  here  with  nice  precision, 

And  extended  keep  his  arms ; 
Let  us  not  incur  derision 

Through  mishap,  or  heart- alarms  ! 

Place  ye  now  the*  feet,  and  palms. 
Nine  o'clock  !  The  word  is  given — 

See,  the  heavy  ha-mmer  swings  ! 
Blow  on  blow,  the  nails  are  driven 

Severing  muscles  into  strings ; 
There  upraise  the  cross  for  standing — 

Down  its  place  now  let  it  fall ! 
Hear  we  still  the  guide  commanding — 

Make  it  fast  with  wedge  and  maul, 

So,  well  done,  thanks  !  that  is  all. 


WAYWARD  PETER. 

had  he  said,  I  know  him  not ! 
With  oaths  to  make  denial  strong ; 
He,  who  for  Christ  so  lately,  fought 
To  guard  him  from  the  impious  throng. 

O,  wayward  Peter  !  first  to  come, 

Leaving  thy  all  to  follow  him  ; 
And,  first  to  speak,  when  all  were  dumb— 

To  see,  when  other  eyes  were  dim. 

Thou  knewest  well,  from  whence  he  came  ! 

And  spake  the  heaven-revealed  word 
When  others  named  some  prophet's  name, 

"Thou  art  the  Christ,  the  Son  of  God." 

And,  thou  hadst  seen  his  glory  burn 
Like  Moses's  bush,  on  Tabor's  height ! 

And,  all  his  earthly  raiment,  turn 

To  dazzling  hues,  with  heavenly  light. 

Thou  too,  hadst  on  the  broken  sea, 

All  tempest-tossed,  while  sore  dismayed  ; 

Beheld  him  walk  the  waves  to  thee, 
And  heard  his  voice,  "  Be  not  afraid." 

173 


1 74  POEMS 

And,  now,  with  hell's  black  hour  broke, 
While  meek  submission  chains  his  soul 

To  bear  for  man  sin's  withering  stroke, 
As  clouds  of  wrath  around  him  roll — 

Thou,  faithless  midst  the  accusing  clan, 
With  all  his  God -like  acts  forgot ; 

When  told,  "  thou  too,  wast  with  the  man  ! " 
Dost  cursing  say,  "  I  know  him  not." 

Ah  !  then  thy  glance  met  other  eyes, 
And  oh  !  the  pity  of  that  look  j 

What  love,  and  grief,  if  not  surprise — 
Piercing  the  heart  with  sore  rebuke. 

Thy  tears  fell  fast,  and  we  forgive, 
As  Christ  arisen,  thy  sin  forgave  ; 

Thy  joy  was  full,  to  see  him  live — 
His  joy  was  full,  the  lost  to  save. 


FOR  OUR  PROFIT. 

JE  must  not  say  God  hurts  us, 

Designing  thus  to  do, 
Just  for  the  sake  of  plaguing  us, 

Without  an  end  in  view ; 
So,  we  shall  feel  much  better, 

If  we  can  understand 
That  love  is  in  each  trial  hid, 
Sent  by  a  father's  hand. 


FOR  OUR   PROFIT  175 

« 

Sometimes,  it  may  be  well  to  say, 

I  am  a  little  light — 
A  flicker  to  help  show  the  way 

Along  in  earth's  dark  night ; 
Now,  lamps  get  roughly  handled, 

And  trimmed  well,  o'er  and  o'er  j 
But  all  this  usage  is,  that  they 

May  shine  for  others  more. 

Sometimes,  it  may  be  well  to  say 

I  am  a  little  vine ; 
Yet,  not  to  think  some  day  ye  may 

High  on  the  trellis  twine — 
But,  rather  be  your  thought  like  this, 

Himself  who  owns  the  root, 
Cares  not  for  branches  fair,  and  high, 

He  only  wants  the  fruit ; 

And  thus  we  better  bear  the  knife, 

That  leaves  awhile  its  smart — 
Put  forth  that  we  may  be  prepared, 

With  pride  of  self  to  part : 
And  then,  whatever  ill  may  come  ; 

We  say,  if  God  be  there, 
We  trust  him  always,  waiting  dumb, 

Beneath  his  love,  and  care. 

It  may  be  well  enough  to  ask 

What  did  God  want  of  me  ? 
Rough  metal  from  earth's  deep  defile — 

What  value  could  he  see  ? 


176  POEMS 

Say  this,  it  may  be  gold  he  saw^ 
I  in  his  hand  will  stay, 

Though  furnace  heat  may  burn  my 
To  take  the  dross  away. 

He  wanted  me,  I  know  he  did  ! 

Now,  to  his  hand  I  cling, 
Whatever  course  he  takes  with  me 

It  shall  submission  bring ; 
The  good  of  each  affliction  sore 

I  may  not  understand 
Till  I  come  up  to  take  the  crown, 

All  shining  from  his  hand. 


HEAVENLY  PASTURES. 

[ERE  are  the  pastures  green  and  large 
That  blest  the  sight  of  David's  eyes? 
What  shepherd  keeps  untiring  charge, 
With  food  and  rest  in  full  supplies  ? 

This  shepherd  knew  with  fondest  care 
The  needs  of  his  dependent  flock — 

Of  grassy  patches  sweet  and  rare, 

Of  shade  beneath  the  o'erhanging  rock. 

Of  waters  where  long  stillness  slept 
Above  the  banks  that  near  them  rose, 

Only  as  murmuring  music  crept 

To  charm  his  sheep  to  deep  repose. 


HEAVENLY   PASTURES  177 

Of  dark  ravines  where  danger's  path 

Led  to  the  wilderness  away, 
O'er  which  the  wolf  with  hungry  wrath, 

Might  seize  a  careless  lamb  astray. 

So  well  he  knew  a  higher  love 

Had  sent  the  Heavenly  Shepherd  forth 

Over  the  vales  and  hills  to  rove, 
Guarding  his  flock  in  all  the  earth. 

What  time  they  faint  he  findeth  food  ; 

What  time  they  tire  he  giveth  rest ; 
If  evil  lurks  in  solitude, 

They  hear  his  hasting  feet  in  quest. 

And  when  the  path  to  fairer  lands 

Each  through  the  shadowy  valley  takes, 

Holding  sweet  comfort  in  his  hands, 
The  Shepherd  not  one  lamb  forsakes. 

He  wants  his  flock  for  endless  years 

In  pastures  under  sunnier  skies, 
Where  he  can  brush  all  cause  for  fears 

With  the  last  tear-drop  from  their  eyes. 


"I  KNOW  MY  SHEEP. " 

UJ|  WANDER  in  earth's  pasture  parched,  and  old, 
P||     And  mountain  winds  at  times,  beat  roughly  down- 
While  Satan's  wolves  my  ways  in  anger  hound 
As  if  without  a  shepherd,  or  a'  fold. 
They  make  mistake  who  think  so — I  am  told, 
The  great,  good  Shepherd  knoweth  all  his  sheep, 
And  maketh  it  his  care  his  own  to  keep. 
What  though  sometimes  the  season  may  be  cold  ? 
My  homesick  bleatings  sounding  in  his  ear — 
Then,  all  unseen,  he  cometh  unto  me, 
Yet  not  unknown  as  now  he  bendeth  near, 
To  whisper  for  my  comfort  what  shall  be, — 
Broad  pastures  green,  by  waters  still  and  clear ; 
A  fold,  where  I  his  gathered  ones  may  see. 


"  IT  SHALL  BE  PREACHED.'1 

"shall  be  preached" — so  said  the  kingly  Prophet- 
"This  gospel  of  the  kingdom,"  through  all  lar  c'.r- ; 
Heralds  must  rise,  and  join  to  tell  the  story, 
In  swift  obedience  to  the  high  commands. 

178 


THE   RETURNING   KING  179 

"  It  shall  be  preached — this  gospel  of  the  kingdom  ;  " 
Never  have  lips  had  sweeter  news  to  tell — 

A  shining  realm  ;  immortal  hosts,  all  happy ; 
And  He  who  ruleth  doing  all  things  well. 

"It  shall  be  preached — this  gospel  of  the  kingdom," 
While  tottering  thrones  from  earthly  bases  fall : 

The  shout  shall  ring,  Behold  !  a  throne  eternal 
Ariseth  for  our  world,  beyond  them  all ! 

It  shall  be  preached  aloud,  with  blessed  nearness, 
By  men  whose  faces  glow  with  holy  light : 

As  thickening  signs  proclaim,  it  cometh  quickly, 
Like  flashing  morn  over  the  hills  of  night. 

"  In  all  the  world  " — as  Witnesses,  strong  Voices 

Shall  signal  to  the  nations  joy  and  gloom  ; 
And  then,  though  many  wish  the  King  to  tarry, 

He  will  not — the  appointed  end  must  come. 


THE  RETURNING  KING. 

Up*  HAVE  come  out  a  long  way  over  the  road 

?||l     To  meet  the  return  of  a  king  ! 

I  have  watched  for  the  door  of  his  high  abode 

To  open  and  outward  swing ; 
Because  of  his  words  he  left  with  men, 
I  have  looked  so  long,  for  his  coming  again. 


1 80  POEMS 

I  have  thought  of  the  East,  I  have   thought  of  the 
West, 

And  watched,  as  life's  hill  I  did  climb  ! 
For,  none  like  this  king  doth  my  soul  interest, 

High  over  the  mountains  of  time  ; 
I  have  never  forgot  what  he  said  to  men — 
"  If  I  go  away,  I  will  come  again." 

I  have  lifted  my  dear  ones  down  to  sleep, 

And  said,  as  griefs  fount  did  break, 
And  my  tears  were  spilled  that  I  then  did  weep — 

If  he  comes  not,  they  never  will  wake  ; 
But  I  thought  of  the  promise  he  once  did  give, 
"Because  I  live,  ye  shall  also  live." 

I  have  turned  down  the  way  towards  the  valley, 

And  the  shadows  fall  darkly  below  ! 
But  therein  though  my  steps  may  not  dally, 

I  must  watch  for  the  heavenly  glow — 
For  as  often  the  lightning  gleams  over  me — 
He  said,  "  so  also  my  coming  shall  be." 


A  GLANCE  PROPHETIC. 

|  FIE  moving  earthly  kingdoms,  through  the  ages, 

Have  filled  the  vision  of  prophetic  sages — 
Golden  Chaldea,  with  all  her  added  splendor, 
To  Persian  rule,  and  Median,  must  surrender— 


A   GLANCE   PROPHETIC  l8l 

This  double  power,  to  fill  prophetic  story, 

Must  yield  to  Grecia,  all  her  strength,  and  glory ; 

So,  Grecian  valor,  world-wide,  and  at  home, 

Shall  sheath  the  sword,  and  give  the  hilt  to  Rome ; 

With  iron  will,  Rome  over-rides  all  things, 

And  smiles  to  smite  with  death,  the  prince  of  kings ; 

Then,  millions  of  his  followers  rob  of  life, 

Through  bloody  centuries  of  awful  strife. 

Great  Milton  cried  aloud  of  these  in  verse, 

In  what  bold  lines,  I  will  in  part  rehearse — 

"  Avenge  !  O  Lord  thy  slaughtered  saints,  whose  bones 

Lie  scattered  on  the  Alpine  mountains  cold  ; 

Even  them,  who  kept  thy  truth  so  pure  of  old, 

When  all  our  fathers  worshipped  stocks,  and  stones." 

And,  after  this,  the  statue  stands  complete — 

Head,  breast,  sides,  legs  with  brittle,  clayey  feet ; 

All  kingdoms  well  embodied  in  this  plan, 

And,  seen  at  once  in  the  metalic  man  ; 

Then,  swiftly,  as  alone  from  mountain  hurled, 

A  mighty  stone,  falls  down  to  smite  the  world ; 

The  rotten  basis  of  earth's  kingdoms  all, 

Is  ground  to  powder — they  in  ruin  fall — 

And  He,  the  long  rejected — breaking  Stone, 

Plants  in  their  place,  for  all  the  earth,  his  throne  • 

And,  every  promised  joy  to  man  is  given, 

As  now,  God's  will  is  done,  in  earth  and  heaven. 


"LIFT  UP  YOUR  HEADS." 

Luke  21:  28. 

?,YE  !  more  than  a  glance  we  should  cast  at  the  sky, 

If  we  heed  our  dear  Savior's  command — 
When  the  day  of  redemption  foretold  draweth  nigh, 
And,  all  ready  to  meet  him  we  stand. 

A  glance  may  be  well,  many  omens  to  see  ; 

But,  the  thoughts  of  the  head,  and  the  heart 
Should  be  fixed  on  the  glory,  so  quickly  to  be 

Breaking  wide  the  far  heavens  apart. 

Only  one  world  is  engrossing  the  gaze, 

And  the  nod,  to  the  mammon  of  gain — 
Blind  to  the  future,  no  token  can  raise 

Men's  eyes  to  what  long  shall  remain. 

The  mind  full  of  joy,  from  the  hope  of  release — 

The  heart,  full  of  love  for  the  king, 
Forgetteth  earth's  strife,  for  the  valleys  of  peace, 

Which  the  day  of  redemption  will  bring. 

So,  the  head  is  uplifted  from  all  things  below, 

And,  the  eyes  growing  sick  of  decay, 
Have  marked  the  events  come  to  pass,  which  may  show 

We  have  passed  our  last  miles  on  the  way. 

Uplifted,  to  hark  for  the  shout  of  that  Voice 
That  shall  shake  down  the  tombs  of  all  years, 

And  bring  the  dear  dead — all  the  good,  to  rejoice, 
From  the  valley  of  shadows,  and  tears. 

182 


MUSINGS  183 


Uplifted,  for  home — the  gates  to  be  flung — 
Angel-faces  to  flash  on  our  own — 

The  song  of  creation  redeemed,  to  be  sung. 
To  the  king,  who  has  taken  earth's  throne. 


MUSINGS. 

^HALL I  behold  the  One  who  died  for  me — 

Gaze  in  the  depth  of  those  long-loving  eyes, 
And  search  his  face  with  wondrous  surprise. 

Lost  in  the  sense  so  sweet,  'tis  He,  'tis  He  ? 
The  child  of  Bethlehem — of  Calvary 

The  man — The  dead  of  Joseph's  tomb, 
Who  left  eternal  life  as  its  perfume, 

And  brought  away  the  resurrection  key. 

I  shall  behold  him,  when  the  weary  years 

Have  poured  their  fill  of  sorrows  o'er  all  lands, 
And  the  sick  Earth  is  lifting  up  her  hands 

To  pray  him  down  to  end  her  cause  for  tears ; 
He  shall  appear  to  calm  away  our  fears — 

That  holy  sleepers  from  their  dust  may  wake, 
And  sky,  and  earth  unfailing  beauty  take  ; 

The  joy  long-waited-for,  foretold  by  seers. 


RESTITUTION. 

JE  shall  be  sent  again — Earth's  promised  King, 

And  all  invested  power  to  reign  will  bring : 
His  royal  feet  the  waiting  soil  shall  tread, 
O'er  which  he  bore  the  cross  whereon  he  bled. 

A  loyal  throng,  world-wide,  with  lifted  hands, 
Shout,  "Live  forever  !  take  Thy  just  demands  !" 
All-willing  now  to  see  his  strength  displayed, 
That  Satan's  realm  his  own  fair  world  be  made. 

See  the  vast  armies  of  the  Rebel  fall, 

As  his  black  brow  his  own  defeats  recall  : 

Inglorious  victim  !  who  hath  victor  been 

Only  through  slaughter  of  his  weapon,  sin. 

•* 

Go  out,  go  down  !  sink  in  oblivion's  sea, — 
This  orb,  so  long  thy  pride,  shall  now  be  free ; 
And  graves  of  all  the  centuries  give  birth 
To  hosts  immortal,  who  shall  hold  the  Earth  ! 

Jesus  shall  bless  the  vales,  and  bless  the  hills, 
Till  Hea/en's  glory  all  creation  fills ; 
His  throne  the  centre  of  that  city  stands, — 
The  shining  capital  of  all  the  lands. 

All  things  are  new  again  !     The  Second  Man 
His  empire  with  immortals  hath  began  : 
They  fear  no  fall, — Probation's  day  is  past : 
The  tried  and  faithful  ones,  are  safe  at  last. 

184 


TIME'S  EVENING  HOURS. 

|E  know  by  many  a  token, 

Evening  creeps  along  the  sky — 
And,  the  words  by  Jesus  spoken — 
Tell,  the  midnight  hour  is  nigh  ; 
The  early  hours,  seem  going  fast — • 
But  midnight-hour,  will  be  the  last. 

There  will  be  no  more  delaying ; 

What  a  blessed  thing  to  know  ! 
For  his  coming  I  am  praying — 

To  the  marriage  I  must  go  ; 
But,  if  the  early  hours  go  past, 
Shall  I  have  oil  enough  to  last  ? 

Ah  !  I  have  thought  this  over, 

And,  what  folly  it  would  be, 
When  the  blessed  Bridegroom-lover 

Shall  come  down  for  you,  and  me — 
To  have  the  waiting  hours  gone  past, 
And,  not  have  oil  enough  to  last. 

So,  my  lamp  shall  be  kept  ready  ! 

And,  with  other  oil  beside, 
I  will  watch  till  midnight,  steady  ! 

Jesus'  coming  for  his  bride  ; 
Then,  I  will  rise,  and  follow  fast — 
With  light,  and  oil  enough  to  last. 

185 


1 86  POEMS 

I  must  watch,  and  wait  till  midnight ! 

Though  the  hour  I  may  not  know ; 
But  by  many  a  feeble,  flickering  light/ 

That  will  fainter,  fainter  grow ; 
And,  as  the  darkness  deepens  fast, 
Have  oil,  to  trim  my  lamp  to  last. 


TRANSITION. 

In  a  moment,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye." — PAUL. 

»NE  moment  in  life's  business  here  and  there, 

And  sorely  burdened  with  its  cankering  care  ; 
One  moment,  pinched  with  want,  and  knowing  not 
Where  needed  food  and  raiment  maybe  got ; 
One  moment,  blinded  with  a  mourner's  tears, 
And  sadly  counting  the  slow  march  of  years ; 
One  moment,  slighted,  and  reproached  with  words 
That  rend  with  grief  the  heart's  most  tender  chords  ; 
One  moment,  wasting  with  some  slow  disease, 
Heart-sick  and  hopeless,  naught  of  earth  can  please ; 
One  moment,  poring  o'er  the  sacred  book, 
Faith-led  and  hope-inspired  beyond  to  look  ; 
One  moment,  singing,  in  prophetic  strains, 
Of  grove-crowned  hills  and  fruitful,  flowery  plains ; 
One  moment,  at  the  throne  of  mercy  bending, 
With  earnest  supplication  Heaven  ascending, 
Closed  with  "  Our  Father  "  as  the  prayer  begun, 
Thy  kingdom  come,  Thy  will  on  earth  be  done  ;  " 


TRANSITION  187 

One  moment,  with  our  dead,  among  the  dead, 

The  earth  all  lifted  from  the  lowly  bed  j 

The  long  procession  stands  with  teary  faces, 

While  thought  seeks  out  the  many- sleeping-places ; 

One  moment,  with  uncovered  heads  to  wait, 

Then,  loitering  feet  turn  towards  the  grave-yard  gate. 

An  instant  more,  and  what  a  change  appears, 

Stopping  the  wheel  of  all  earth's  mortal  years — 

A  moment — "  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  " 

The  dead  are  living,  who  long  since  did  die  ; 

And  living  saints,  with  all  corruption  gone, 

Feel  thrilling  immortality  put  on — 

O,  moment,  filled  with  most  ecstatic  joy  ! 

The  mother  finds  again  the  long-lost  boy. 

In  sweet  companionship  the  saints  arise 

To  meet  the  Saviour  in  the  breaking  skies, 

And  doubts  that  plagued  us  in  the  misty  past, 

Give  place  to  shoutings — "  We  are  saved  at  last !  " 

Toil,  care  and  tears,  and  want  are  all  forgot ; 

Disease,  and  cold  neglect  now,  harrass  not ; 

And  all  that  faith  hath  seen,  or  hope  embraced, 

We  know  is  coming — by  this  early  taste ; 

And  in  the  face  of  Christ  we  now  behold 

The  rich  inheritance,  he  will  unfold. 

Entrancing  thought — One  moment,  here  in  time — 

The  next — where  all  is  heavenly  and  sublime. 


AT  LAST  AT  HOME. 

Psalm  xlv. 

SONG  of  loves 

My  heart  a  fountain  moves  ; 
That  I  may  speak  with  ready  tongue  the  things 
Which  I  have  made  touching  the  best  of  kings, 
Of  all  the  sons  of  men  adored,  most  fair  ; 
Grace  through  his  lips  is  poured,  a  wondrous  share 

Thy  God  therefore, 
Hath  blessed  thee  evermore. 

Gird  thou  thy  sword 
Upon  thy  thigh,  O  Lord  1 
And  in  thy  majesty  ride  prosperously  forth, 
For  meekness,  righteousness,  and  truth  in  earth. 
Thine  arrows  in  the  heart  most  sharp  shall  be 
Whereby  thine  enemies  fall  under  thee — 

Thy  right  hand  brings 
Thy  foes  the  dreaded  things. 

O  God  -,  thy  God 
Hath  sent  thy  fame  abroad, 
The  sceptre  of  thy  kingdom  being  right — 
Thy  throne  forever  standeth  a  delight ; 
Above  thy  fellow  kings,  as  once  appointed, 
With  oil  of  gladness  he  hath  thee  anointed — 

For  love  of  right, 
And  hate  of  wrong,  this  might. 

188 


AT   LAST  AT   HOME  189 

O,  Bridegroom  King — 
So  rich  in  everything  ; 
Thy  garments  scented  from  all  chalices, 
Brought  forth  from  out  the  ivory  palaces, 
Of  costly  cassia,  myrrh,  and  aloes  had, 
Whereby  to  deck  thee  they  have  made  thee  glad ; 

Kings'  daughters  there — 
Are  thine  attendants  fair. 

At  thy  right  hand 
The  Queen  in  gold  doth  stand, 
Charged  to  forget  the  people  once  her  own — 
Her  father's  house,  for  him  who  has  the  throne — 
So  shall  the  King  her  beauty  much  desire, 
He  is  her  Lord — and  she  shall  him  admire — 

So  favored  now, 
The  rich  to  thee  would  bow. 

And  it  is  told — 
With  raiment  of  wrought  gold, 
She  shall  be  brought  to  him — this  happy  bride, 
O'er  carpets  richly  spreading,  far  and  wide, 
With  shouts  of  glad  escort,  the  way  will  ring 
Into  the  festive  palace  of  the  King  : 

At  last  at  home — 
The  marriage  feast  has  come. 


KING  DEATH. 

>ING  Death  may  boast  throughout  his  realm 

His  power  to  hurl  all  others  down, 
The  brave  in  war  to  overwhelm, 

To  lift  from  kingly  heads  the  crown. 

Thus  looking  o'er  his  vast  estate, 
No  earthly  Lord  such  prestige  hath; 

So  many  subjects,  small  and  great, 

With  costly  lands  long  ruled  by  Death. 

Mark  those  who  pass  beneath  his  sway 

Have  naught  but  peace  with  him — with  all ; 

His  presence  makes  the  quiet  day, 

And  stillness  reigns  with  evening's  fall. 

His  palaces  are  marble  made, 

Or  granite  built,  and  barred  with  care ; 

Near  their  foundations  rinrs  the  spade, 
Where  many  lowlier  dwellings  are. 

He  glides  all  ways,  silent  and  grim, 
While  loud  his  enemies  complain ; 

Yet  thousands  daily  work  for  him, 
At  awful  loss,  to  make  his  gain. 

And,  but  for  One,  who  broke  control, 
And  sent  his  claim  the  world  around, 

Death  might  reign  on  from  pole  to  pole, 
Sinking  his  vaults  in  every  ground. 

190 


RESURGEMUS  19 1 

This  claim  has  spoiled  Death's  far  design, 

Since  it  shall  happen  in  a  day, 
That  out  of  heaven  that  form  shall  shine — 

That  from  his  kingdom  broke  away. 

And  if  he  shout,  and  sure  he  will, 

Defeated  Death,  himself  will  die ; 
And  from  his  empire  long  so  still, 

Millions  shall  send  the  victor's  cry. 

Nor,  will  he  cease  who  calls  his  own — 

Till  earth  shall  be  a  realm  of  life ; 
With  the  last  tyrant  overthrown, 

One  song  of  joy  shall  end  the  strife. 


RESURGEMUS. 

me  away,  when  I  am  surely  dead, 
Into  my  place  of  waiting.     Shall  I  care 
ror  tear-drops  falling  on  my  clammy  cheeks, 
Before  the  casket-lid  comes  darkly  down  ? 
Or  whether  flowers  bestrew  the  sod  above  me? 
Will  the  worm  disturb  my  rest ;  or  the  hand 
Of  rough  corruption  make  me  a  bit  afraid  ? 
Or,  let  the  fiery  glow  swiftly  my  frame 
Incinerate — or,  sink  it  in  the  deep  so  low 
That  sightless  fishes  may  my  flesh  devour — 
Will  any  maw  of  sure  decay  destroy  me  ? 
No ;  nor  shall  I  mark  my  fate  from  death 
Till  resurrection ;  not  the  farewell  kiss 


192  POEMS 

f 

Shall  I  remember  in  the  lowly  dark ; 

Nor  fight  the  mode  of  my  disintegration  : 

But,  what  concerns  me  most  is  this  I  tell ; 

So  to  commit  my  ways,  in  faith  and  hope 

To  Him  who  leaves  one  not  in  mazy  doubt 

Of  a  high  destiny  beyond  the  wasting  tomb. 

This  is  my  boast :  though  Nature  keeps  all  dumb — 

And  reason  blindly  halts — and  science  laughs — 

And  half-believing  men  berate  the  body, 

Heaven's  book  lights  up  'the  distant  ages, 

And  foretells  a  deathless  world.     Christ  crieth 

Yet,  Give  back.     Then  unseen  atoms  in,  or  earth, 

Or  sea  shall  nestle  into  form  of  bone 

And  sinew,  flesh  and  skin — ears  hear  again — 

And  eyes  relume  !     Old  memory  takes  her  thread 

For  fondest  recollections — we  are  ourselves 

Once  more,  like  Him  who  gave  this  being — 

Death  dies  for  victims  !  WE  forever  live. 


DEATH'S  VICTOR. 

jOTH  He  who  waited  at  Nain's  outer  portal 

With  anxious  eye, 
?6  "catch  the  grief  of  that  poor  mourning  mortal 

As  she  came  nigh — 

Then  rouse  her  son  with  a  few  words  he  said, 
Still  watch  all  mothers  as  they  mourn  their  dead  ? 


"THEY  SHALL  HEAR  HIS  VOICE"  193 

Doth  He  who  spake  with  words  of  hope  so  cheering 

For  one  who  slept — 
Who,  by  his  grave  at  length,  calmly  appearing, 

With  sisters  wept, 

Then  raised  the  brother  to  allay  their  grief, 
Still  yearn  to  give  all  sisters  such  relief? 

Doth  He  who  at  the  ruler's  house  of  weeping, 

To  still  their  cries, 
Bent  o'er  the  damsel  in  her  breathless  sleeping 

With  "Maid,  arise  ! "— 
Holding  her  little  hand  to  lift  her  up, 
Still  whisper  to  all  parents  thoughts  of  hope  ? 

Yes  !  yes  !  nothing  in  all  that  upper  home, 

I  dare  to  say — 
Can  keep  our  Jesus,  when  his  hour  has  come 

To  haste  away ; 

And  all  the  angels  will  their  pinions  spread, 
To  view  his  triumph  as  he  wakes  the  dead. 


THEY  SHALL  HEAR  HIS  VOICE." 

,EEP  sweetly  comes  to  the  aged  sire, 

And  the  grandma  nods  in  her  easy-chair  : 
it  the  feet  of  the  stamping  boys — 
Will  rouse  them  with  the  noise. 


194  POEMS 

The  baby,  rocked  on  her  mother's  breast, 
Quietly  lays  in  the  cradle-nest ; 
But  a  little  careless  sound, 
And  baby  her  eyes  hath  found. 

The  household  all,  when  the  night  shades  fall, 
Buried  away  by  the  bedroom's  wall, 
Mock  the  dead  for  awhile, 
But  morning  brings  the  smile. 

A  year  away  from  this  happy  home, 
And  over  the  threshold  again  you  come ; 
The  sunshine  drops  on  the  entry  floor, 
But  the  shadow  is  heavy  behind  the  door. 

Grandpa  has  found  a  longer  sleep, 
And  grandma,  too,  in  the  cold-bed  deep } 
They  wouldn't  awake  that  day, 
Before  they  were  put  away. 

And  baby  closed  her  eyes  and  slept, 
Then  the  mother  pressed  her  form  and  wept ; 
But  baby  wouldn't  awake, 
Not  for  the  mother's  sake. 

Ah  !  vainly  all  is  our  earthly  call, 

When  the  death-sleep  comes  to  the  great  aad  small ; 

But  Jesus  his  call  shall  give, 

And  the  dead  will  hear  and  live. 


A  SIMILE. 

||j|  HAVE  heard  of  a  wearied  regiment 
§|p     In  their  blankets  wrapped  around, 
Distant  from  barrack,  and  house  and  tent, 
And,  sleeping  along  the  ground. 

The  clouds  came  over  the  silent  men, 

To  scatter  the  feathery  snow ; 
All  night  it  fell,  and  it  buried  them, 

In  rows  of  white  mounds  below. 

"  Let  the  reveille  sound,"  a  leader  said, 

Over  these  seeming  graves  ; 
"  And  each  will  leap  from  his  silent  bed, 

For  a  regiment  of  braves." 

And  now  as  the  rattling  call  pours  forth, 
They  arise  where  adown  they  fell, 

As  if  they  brake  from  the  very  earth, 
And  the  call  is  answered  well. 

Thus  shall  it  be  when  the  night  of  time, 

With  its  storms,  away  shall  roll, 
And  the  angel  stands  for  his  blast  sublime 

That  shall  ring  from  pole  to  pole. 

The  dust  from  the  dust  new  form  shall  take, 

As  the  millions  quickly  arise  ; 
And  just  where  they  fell  will  the  surface  break, 

With  the  joy  of  life  in  their  eyes. 

195 


SO  MUCH. 

!  resurrection  means  so  much  ! 
The  grand  uplifting  of  the  form — 
By  virtue  of  a  heavenly  touch, 
Each  atom,  into  life  to  warm. 

It  means — the  flash  of  eye,  in  eye, 
What  instant  life  is  there  renewed  ; 

With  joy  that  graves  are  all  passed  by, 
And  ages  of  their  solitude — 

It  means  all  this — that  Christ  was  true, 

In  word,  and  act  as  we  believe  ; 
And,  they  who  saw  what  he  could  do — 

Whom,  no  false  story  did  deceive. 

It  means  eternal  life  and  bliss 

For  all  who  hold  the  seal  of  worth  ; 

A  dwelling  place  where  Jesus  is, 

When  he  shall  reign  upon  the  earth. 

It  means  so  much  !  O,  who  can  take 
Through  earthly  sense — the  glory  in  ! 

We  can  but  know  when  we  awake, 

What,  for  the  good — the  word  doth  mean. 

But,  none  may  stay  in  death,  and  dust — 
"  His  voice  "  shall  every  one,  reveal ; 

The  just  shall  live,  and  the  unjust, 
In  shame,  their  awful  loss  shall  feel. 

196 


ABOVE  ALL. 

|H  LOOKED  into  the  Heavens  afar,  so  far, 

iw     And  fleecy  clouds  seemed  huddled  round  the 

dome — 

A  space  of  blue,  however,  held  a  star, 
Alone  to  glitter  in  the  cave-like  home. 

Gold,  blue,  and  white,  in  contrast  lay — 

Each  color,  seemed  intent,  each  to  outdo — 

O,  nearer  clouds,  and  sky  so  far  away  ! 
I  said,  my  first  loud  praise  be  unto  you. 

But,  as  I  gazed — the  star  with  twinkling  eye, 
Kept  looking  brighter  at  me  through  such  rays — 

I  said,  the  clouds  are  grand,  and  grand  the  sky  ! 
But,  you  sweet  star,  receive  the  louder  praise. 

So,  when  the  white  robed  millions,  round  about 
The  shining  throne,  with  angel  hosts  shall  stand  ; 

And  every  victor  over  sin,  shall  shout — 
As  palms  shall  wave  in  each  exultant  hand. 

Itjwill  be  glorious,  glorious  !  these  to  see, 
No  mortal  eyes  the  sight  may  look  upon  ! 

Yet,  round  about  the  throne  a  space  will  be, 
Where,  sits  in  kingly  grace,  the  Holy  One. 

Look,  all  on  him  !  He,  was  the  crucified, 
He  hath  redeemed  us  for  the  eternal  joy  ! 

Angels,  their  faces  at  his  glory  hide, 

And,  all  to  praise  him  now  their  tongues  employ. 

An  evening  gaze,  December,  1885. 
197 


LINES  FOR  MY  MARY. 

you  remember  the  little  cook, 
With  nothing  but  pleasure  in  her  look- 
Kneading,  and  rolling  her  piece  of  dough 
That  you  had  given  her,  you  know? 
Not  content  till  she  baked  the  same, 
Passing  it  round  in  her  own  dear  name  j 

Do  you  remember  the  little  flat, 

And  the  no-backed  chair  whereon  it  sat? 

With  the  smoothing-board  her  papa  made — 

And  the  wrinkled  pieces  about  it  laid, 

With  dolly's  clothes — a  pile  of  care 

For  the  little  hands  to  iron  there. 


Out  of  her  resting-place,  by  and  by, 
Where  she  went  when  she  had  to  die — 
Just  as  tall,  yea,  and  just  as  old, 
You  may  the  darling  again  enfold ; 
You  will  remember  her — she  will  thee  ! 
Glad  with  each  other  forever  to  be. 


"I  AM  GOING,  RAIN  OR  SHINE." 

>LLIE  MAY,  my  little  daughter, 

Asked  her  mother  on  a  day, 
All  about  the  new  earth  country — 
And  if  she  should  go  that  way. 

Then,  as  if  its  many  beauties 
Did  her  own  dear  heart  incline, 

She  remarked  with  firm  decision — 
"  I  am  going,  rain  or  shine." 

Ah  !  methought  the  way  we  journey 
Was  well  pictured  by  the  child  ; 

For  how  many  days  are  stormy, 
And  how  few  are  wholly  mild. 

Whirling  gusts  of  earthly  trial — 

These  at  times  the  spirit  chill ; 
But  in  Christ,  with  self-denial, 

We  remain  uninjured  still. 

Clouds  of  doubt,  and  misty  sadness  ; 

Fogs  that  hide  each  future  scene ; 
Tears  that  fall  like  summer  showers, 

Yet  with  rainbow  light  between — 

19? 


200  POEMS 

When  the  pathway  seemeth  brighter, 
And  our  faith  and  hope  in  store, 

Threads  the  devious  stretch,  and  tells  us 
We  are  nearer  than  before, — 

Then  I  think  of  kingdom-glories, 
And  my  motto  is  this  line — 

Which  to  me  hath  been  a  sermon  * 
"  I  am  going,  rain  or  shine." 


EARLY  GONE. 

An  only  daughter,  aged  six. 
GRASP  for  what  I  cannot  reach 


lip     Too  distant  far  the  treasure  lies, 

(»SSi& 

And  silence  mocks  my  wooing  speech, 
And  hungry  grow  my  searching  eyes. 

O  empty  arms  !  that  cannot  feel, 
And  press  upon  my  aching  heart 

The  form  of  her  I  loved  so  well, 
And  clung  to  when  we  fell  apart. 

No  other  voice  that  music  holds 
Which  thrilled  my  being  night  or  day ; 

Her  "  Papa  "  in  my  memory  rolls — 

"  I  want  you  here — stay  with  me,  stay  ! ?p 


"O  FOR   A   WELL  TUNED   HARP."  2OT 

Tis  said  that  women  mourn — the  weak ; 

Men  should  be  brave,  to  manhood  true ; 
So  speak,  yet  tears  are  on  my  cheek, 

And  mothers,  I  will  mourn  with  you. 

And  there  are  fathers  I  have  known, 

Whose  store  of  grief  they  could  not  keep — 

So  "  Jesus  wept "  above  his  own — 
And  I  to  lose  my  own  must  weep. 

And  yet  'tis  not  a  hopeless  grief — 
We  shall  our  darling  find  some  day ; 

The  parting  may  be  only  brief — 
To  meet  again,  will  be  to  stay. 


"O  FOR  A  WELL  TUNED  HARP." 

Said  to  be  the  last  words  of  Samuel  Rutherford. 

OM  afar  o'er  earth's  hills,  and  its  valleys, 
He  had  wished  as  he  journeyed  along — 
And,  meanwhile  oft  listened  in  silence, 
For  a  strain  of  the  great  New  Song ; 

Now,  now,  on  the  verge  of  the  glory — 
With  only  a  grave's  width  between  ; 

His  heart  feels  a  new  inspiration, 
From  all  that  by  faith  he  has  seen. 


2O2  POEMS 

So,  the  world  has  gone  back  into  darkness, 
As  he  lendeth  his  hearing,  to  hear 

The  seraphs  who  come  to  earth's  borders' 
Sometimes,  for  a  mortal's  dull  ear. 

Some  vision — some  sweet  apprehension — 
Makes  this  saint,  although  dying,  to  cry, 

For  a  harp  well  attuned  to  the  music 

That  rings  through  Death's  valley,  so  nigh. 

From  the  nap  that  in  peace  he  now  taketh, 
He  shall  waken  with  joy,  by  and  by ; 

And,  the  harp  that  he  longed  for  when  dying, 
Well  attuned  for  life's  song  he  shall  try; ' 

For,  the  life  of  this  saint  is  not  ended, 

Night,  and  Day — Death  but  keepeth  apart 

Jesus  comes  !  and  the  chain  shall  be  mended, 
For  the  heart  that  was  linked  with  his  heart. 


.A  LESSON., 

jHE  arching  sky  is  an  open  book — 

And  the  clouds  are  the  leaves  turned  under, 
The  stars  are  the  letters  whereon  we  look 

While  the  lines  are  traced  with  wonder — 
And  this  is  the  lesson  we  plainly  learn — 

The  old,  and  the  new — one  story ; 
That  God  is  beyond  where  eyes  discern, 
And  "  The  Heavens  declare  his  glory." 


SMILES. 

JMILES  are  the  ripples  of  the  hearts  high  seas, 
Stirred  by  love's  gentle,  or  an  angry  breeze; 

And  smiles  affect  us — be  they  false  or  true  ! 
As  they  affect  the  ones  they  ripple  through. 

A  vacant  smile,  is  like  the  viewless  air, 
That  falls  upon  us,  and  we  do  not  care. 

The  smiles  of  hatred  are  so  cold,  and  thin, 
The  lips  retreat  ashamed,  and  leave  a  grin. 

The  smile  affected,  like  the  painted  face, 
Destroys  the  beauty  of  its  native  grace. 

A  smile  of  bitterness,  the  lips  compress — 
How  quickly  known,  from  that  of  tenderness ; 

Pride,  sometimes  smiles,  but  reason  little  cares 
For  all  her  vain  pretense,  with  simpering  airs. 

There  is  true  beauty  in  an  infant's  smile — 
It  hath  no  chilling  touch  of  inward  guile. 

The  smiles  of  dying  saints  have  oft  been  given, 
As  if  they  answered  back  a  smile  from  heaven. 

The  smile  of  pity,  one  may  quickly  trace — 
A  tear-drop,  often  meets  it  on  the  face. 

There  is  no  heaven  in  a  miser's  smile, 
'Tis  iron  hard,  and  brazen  as  his  pile  ! 

The  smile,  of  victory  born,  is  from  the  eye, 
Flashing  above  the  brow,  with  color  high. 

Love  has  her  smiles,  and  every  time,  they  caH 
Others  from  out  the  heart,  on  which  they  fall. 


OUR  MOTHER. 

IE  mourn  and  must ! 

That  she  who  gave  us  life,  and  on  her  breast 
Nourished  and  soothed  our  infant  forms  to  r  -st, 
Calling  us  each  in  turn  her  fairest,  best, 
Now  sleeps  in  dust. 

She  seemed  our  all — 

No  star  along  the  heavens  shone  half  as  bright 
O'er  us  within  our  fold,  night  after  night, 
As  her  calm  face  all  full  of  love  and  light — 
When  we  were  small. 

It  was  her  care, 

To  watch  with  anxious  eyes  our  truant  feet — 
To  frame  reproof  with  words  and  accents  sweet, 
Or,  if  perchance  some  trial  we  did  meet, 
Our  grief  to  share. 

0  !  childhood  days — 

Nor  time,  nor  change  on  memory's  tablet  blurr 
The  unselfish  acts  of  love  that  did  occur, 
Which  linked  our  very  being  close  to  her, 
In  all  her  ways. 

1  see  her  now, 

As  when  she  moved  about  the  queen  of  home  ! 
Content  with  our  content,  when  she  had  come 
To  ask  on  wintry  nights  if  we  were  warm, 
And  kiss  the  brow. 

204 


OUR   MOTHER  205 

The  table  spread — 

Along  the  circling  row  when  seated  there, 

Her  love  would  flow  to  reach  her  hand  of  care — 

That  each  with  frugal  means  might  have  the  share 

Of  daily  bread. 

Dear  folded  hands, 

Within  the  casket  hidden  from  our  sight ! 

Dear  careful  eyes,  now  closed  in  death's  dark  night ! 

Dear  silent  heart  always  in  love  with  right, 

And  God's  commands  ! 

Hope,  asks  how  long, 

Till  He  who  loved  thee  too,  shall  from  the  skies 
Send  out  the  shout  that  bids  his  own  arise — 
Knitting  again  for  us  these  sundered  ties, 
Endless  and  strong  ? 

Make  haste  !  make  haste  ! 

The  Spoiler  is  too  bold,  and  eager  to  destroy — 

Love  is  no  barrier — he  regards  no  joy  ; 

I  H.s^ase,  and  death  are  swift  in  his  employ — 

Why  all  this  waste  ? 

Mother,  and  home — 

The  sweetest  earth-born  words  that  mortals  know  ! 
So  missed,  and  mourned  for  when  they  have  to  go, 
Thou  wilt,  O  Christ  !  these  treasures  re-bestow 
When  thou  shalt  come. 

After  our  loss. 


EYES. 

SPOIL  in  the  fairest  face  the  lovliest  eyes — 

Then,  looking,  you  their  worth  would  quickly 
prize. 

The  servant  watches  well  his  Master's  eyes, 
By  these,  he  best  his  Master's  nature  tries. 
An  eye  that  twinkles  like  a  winter's  star, 
Beware  of !  it  awaketh  up  for  war. 
An  eye  that  wanders  in  its  orbit  round, 
Betrays  that  roving  feet  are  on  the  ground. 
Who  hath  an  over  bold,  and  staring  eye, 
Will  tell  a  solid  truth,  or  downright  lie. 
Small  eyes  though  lacking  much,  if  made  to  laugh, 
In  laughing,  change  our  judgment  more  than  half. 
I  love  the  eyes  that  carry  souls  about, 
Beside  the  images,  they  get  without ; 
Such,  have  a  tear  for  us  in  our  distress, 
And  move  the  heart  to  solace,  and  to  bless. 
O,  eyes  that  I  have  had — I  miss  them  so, 
What  journeys  I  would  take  to  see  them  glow  ! 
The  hardest  thing  that  ever  mortal  did, 
Was  this ;  to  close  some  eyes  with  death-set  lid— 
The  sweetest  thought  that  can  a  being  thrill, 
Is,  old-time  love  again,  these  eyes  will  fill. 

June  17,1884. 
206 


PONDY  POLAND. 

5IX  ponds— or  lakelets,  in  more  modern  phrase 

Our  town  contains  to  meet  the  travelers  gaze 
And  one  we  boast — much  larger  than  them  all 
On  other  towns,  lets  western  waters  fall  • 
With  ten  square  miles  to  bathe  in,  near  at  hand  ; 
We  should  keep  clean,  who  live  upon  the  land. 


POLAND  SPRING. 

[HAT  large  supplies  of  water  everywhere  ! 

God  called  the  earth  from  water  first,  w 
sing — 

Then  left  the  moving  blessing,  grand  and  fair, — 
In  oceans,  seas,  lakes,  rivers,  and  this  spring. 

The  "blood  is  life" — so  saith  the  Holy  Book- 
To  still  its  tides,  alas  !  would  bring  but  death  ; 

So,  earth  hath  larger  veins,  of  spring,  and  brook — 
Her  blood — her  life,  moved  by  her  Maker's  breath. 

Should  oceans  lay  them  down  in  quiet  sleep, 
And,  all  the  waters,  world-wide,  cease  to  flow ; 

Destruction  sore,  creation  through  would  creep, 
And,  chaos  come  again,  as  long  ago. 

207 


208  POEMS 

All  flesh,  on  living  drink  grows  glad  and  thrives  ! 

The  purer,  with  well  balanced  virtues  blest — 
The  better  for  our  palate,  and  our  lives  j 

And  we  should  seek  such  springs  from  all  the  rest. 

A  palace  stands,  "  Bethesda  "  like  of  old — 
Its  porches,  and  its  many  rooms,  complete ; 

Inviting  from  all  1  ands  with  promise  bold — 
"  Impotent  folk,"  by  sore  diseases  beat — 

Come  to  this  pool !  ye  sick  come  to  the  pool  !  — 
The  sparkling  waters,  moving  just  below — 

Not  by  an  angel's  hand,  but  live,  and  cool, 
As  the  Great  Father  bade  the  stream  to  flow. 

And  lo  !  they  come,  and  drink,  and  thirst,  and  drink — 
Saving  the  withered  flesh  by  turns  the  while  ; 

Then,  stand,  and  worship  at  the  ledgy  brink, 
And  cast  a  parting  look  with  healthful  smile. 


MOSSES. 

[ET  them  alone,  yea,  let  them  alone  ! 

The  touch  of  a  hand  their  beauty  may  mar 
They  are  the  lovliest  left  where  they  are, 
Over  decay,  or  the  hard-hearted  stone  : 
Nature's  own  mantle  betraying  her  pride 
To  hide  her  defects — and  so  soft  to  the  eye. 
Mosses  grow  everywhere — mosses  won't  die, 
If  they  only  can  cover  in  love  what  has  died. 

HATRED. 

gIS  hell  itself  to  harbor  hateful  hate, 

For  suffering  has  begun — no  need  you  wait 

Art  thou  not  loved  look  well  within  to  see, 
If  some  sad  hindrance  dwelleth  not  in  thee. 

An  earnest  hater  oft  his  foe  berates, 
Till  he  is  far  below  the  one  he  hates. 

If  thou  art  given  to  hatred  make  amends, 
Grown  used  to  hating,  who  will  be  thy  friends  ? 

Hatred  can  never  other  hates  remove — 
They  yield  the  soonest  to  the  voice  of  love. 


EGOTISM. 

2EAVE  out  thyself  if  them  hast  praise  to  give, 
Else,  thou  wilt  soon  but  shake  a  chaffy  sieve. 

Sometimes  we  talk  of  self  just  to  explain  ; 
If  so  the  words  we  speak  may  not  be  vain. 

A  seeming  weakness  has  the  letter  I ; 

It  has  no  base,  but  keeps  so  slim,  and  high — 

I  sang,  I  prayed,  I  preached,  I  led  the  advance  j 
No  doubt — for  modest  others  had  no  chance. 

Some  people,  I  have  heard  themselves  condemn, 
To  waken  praise  in  other  folks  for  them. 

If  thou  wouldst  think  of  self,  h#ve  sober  thought ! 
And  let  thy  weakness  by  Christ's  strength  be  taught. 

KISSES. 

kiss  may  set  a  store  of  cares  adrift, 
The  strength  of  many  giants  might  not  lift. 

Sweet  words  have  tenderness  to  comfort  fears — 
But,  nothing  like  a  kiss  can  dry  up  tears. 

Beware  of  kisses  from  a  friend  untrue, 

Some  other  thought  than  friendship,  is  in  view. 

The  kiss  of  parting,  mingles  with  a  tear — 
The  kiss  of  meeting,  with  a  smile  of  cheer. 

I  do  not  see  how  angel-lips  can  stay, 
From  kissing  children  happy  in  their  play. 

I  have  not  lost  the  faith,  and  hope,  and  trust, 

That  I  shall  kiss  the  lips,  that  now  are  dust. 

210 


OBSTINACY. 

is  not  wrong — he  swears  he  is  not  wrong ; 
We  would  believe  him,  were  he  not  so  strong. 

Firmness  in  right  ways,  is  a  goodly  trait ; 
But,  stubbornness  in  wrong — one  can  but  hate. 

With  stubborn  ass  and  man,  a  common  trick 
Is,  have  your  way  or  settle  back  and  kick. 

^PREACHING. 

thou  wouldst  preach  to  bless  the  waiting  ones, 
Let  solemn  words  ring  out  in  serious  tones. 

The  gospel,  with  reality  is  packed — 
Then,  fancy  let  alone,  and  preach  the  fact. 

I  heard  of  one  who  preached  so  very  well, 
He,  in  the  pulpit  many  did  excel ; 

But  out  of  it,  his  practice  was  so  ill, 

Men  thought  the  pulpit  he  should  never  fill. 

When  thou  art  preaching,  let  thine  own  heart's  ear 
Be  listening,  every  saving»truth  to  hear.   *7 

MERIT. 

in  thy  nature  golden  merit  lies, 
The  gem  will  not  be  hid,  from  searching  eyes. 

Merit,  will  find  at  length  her  destination, 
Although  but  slow,  may  be  the  elevation. 

211 


ADVERSITY. 

)D  tunes  us  roughly  sometimes,  if  he  please  ! 
His  aim  is,  better  music  from  the  keys. 

The  face  that  meekness  wears  when  trials  come, 
Says,  to  the  gazer,  I  am  chastened  dumb. 

Lean  on  your  friends  beneath  afflictions  rod  ! 
But,  lean  the  heaviest,  on  the  arm  of  God. 

Thou  hast  not  learned  life's  lesson  to  completeness, 
Till  thou  hast  had  its  sorrows  with  the  sweetness  ! 

Just  where  the  cross  that  kills  thee,  tumbles  down — 
Some  angel  stands  to  cheer  thee  with  a  crown  ! 

Crushed  flowers  their  sweetness  send,  crushed  grapes  their 

wine, 
It  may  be  better  crushed — this  heart  of  mine. 

QUARRELS. 


out  of  quarrels — or  determine  too, 
Then,  if  thou  fallest  in,  'twill  not  be  you ; 

But,  being  in,  let  all  thy  manhood  rise, 
To  take  thee  nobly  through,  in  other's  eyes. 

How  many  see  a  spark,  and  have  desire, 
To  blow  the  little  thing,  and  raise  a  fire. 

One  may  be  faultless  in  a  fuss,  at  first — 
After  a  little,  men  ask  which  is  worst  ? 

'Tis  best  if  squalls  arise,  to  furl  the  sail, 
And  trust  in  God,  to  hurry  by  the  gale. 


A  DRAMA. 

IHIS  is  not  life — this  is  not  death — 
We  stay  here,  on  a  puff  of  breath  ! 

We  play  we  live — and  play  we  are  dead — 
To-day  around — to-night  abed  ! 

Awake  !  poor  life,  we  represent — 
Asleep  !  act  death  beneath  our  tent. 

That  will  be  life,  worthy  the  name — 
When  flows  through  us,  the  immortal  flame; 

Nor,  thought  so  far  before,  can  fly 
To  guess  the  time,  when  we  may  die. 

Death    had  a  world  with  life  to  play  ! 
Now,  Death  is  dead,  we  always  stay. 

YESTERDAY. 

'E  nearest  day  to  us  of  all  the  past — 

Like  the  dear  back  of  a  retreating  friend — 
How  wistfully  we  linger,  as  we  cast 

A  parting  glance — a  whisp'ring  farewell  send. 

It  may  have  been  a  day,  with  no  event, 

To  leave  its  mark  full  fixed,  upon  the  mind  ; 

When,  smoothly  flowing,  all  the  hours  went — 
And  a  review  can  nought  of  moment  find. 

213 


214  POEMS 

It  may  have  been  the  birthday  of  a  child } 

When  love  was  kindled  in  the  eye,  and  heart — 

A  day  to  be  remembered,  calm,  and  mild — 
For  the  dear  babe  on  pilgrimage  to  start. 

It  may  have  been  the  day  for  marriage  bells, 
And  greetings  glad,  with  pure,  and  happy  smile  ; 

But,  songs  on  earth,  are  blent  with  funeral  knells — 
Ah  !  what  may  happen  in  a  little  while  ! 

It  may  have  been  a  day  when  some  one  slept, 
And  wouldn't  wake  to  us,  for  call,  or  kiss  ; 

When  we  leaned  o'er  the  marbled  brow,  and  wept, 
And  musing  said — and  has  it  come  to  this  ! 

Yes  !  yesterday — a  rounded  pile  of  earth 
Was  waiting,  but  to  be  the  heavy  door 

O'er  one  who  died,  a  few  short  years  from  birth — 
Whom  tender  hands  must  to  the  darkness  lower. 

Thus,  we  have  yesterdays,  that  spoil  our  peace, 
And  fling  the  veil  of  grief  across  the  brow  j 

But,  in  the  life  to  come,  such  days  will  cease, 
And  we  shall  summer  in  a  blessed  now. 


SHADE  AND  SUNSHINE. 

||LAY  on  my  face,  now  light,  now  shade, 

Inconstant  as  the  restless  sea  • 
rrown  used  to  both,  I  have  been  made 
To  look  for  both,  to  come  to  me. 

Sweet  light,  we  cry  !  when  shade  is  chill — 
Sun-light,  and  warmth,  go  hand  in  hand ; 

Sweet  shade,  we  crave — when  hot,  and  still, 
The  breath  of  summer  burns  the  land. 

So,  would  I  pass  from  change,  to  change — 

'Tis  our  experience,  thus  to  be 
Avoiding  sameness,  for  the  strange — 

And  half  at  home,  in  misery. 

Thus,  we  get  used  to  every  ill — 

And,  darkest  shadows  on  our  way 
We  linger  in,  with  hope,  until 

The  blackness,  softens  into  day. 

We  are  prepared,  since  fastened  here — 
To  meet  the  worst,  that  time  can  give, 

Then,  fall  in  slumber,  cold,  and  drear — 
Our  bounds  are  set,  we  cannot  live. 

216 


2 1 6  POEMS 

But,  this  high   privilege  is  ours, 
To  peer  beyond  time's  outer  verge, 

Where  falls,  so  near  the  unfading  bowers — 
Earth's  very  last,  inconstant  surge. 

We  leap  to  land,  from  off  its  crest ! 

And,  leave  life's  shadows  all  behind, 
To  find  the  home  of  endless  rest, 

Where  tears  no  more,  our  vision  blind. 

"THE  END  CROWNS  THE  WORK.' 

,  till  earth's  days  are  all  over, 
And  the  sum  of  the  years  is  known — 
Not,  till  the  Judge  of  the  ages, 

Looks  across  the  world  from  his  throne ; 
Will  life's  littles  be  brought  together, 
And  the  fruits  of  my  days  be  shown. 

I  have  toiled  here  and  there,  ready  handed — 
I  have  pushed  weary  feet  o'er  eaith's  way — 

I  have  mused  in  still  hours  of  darkness, 
As  I  rode  from  home-faces  astray — 

I  have  talked  of  a  world  that  is  coming, 
Far  more,  than  the  world  of  to-day. 

But,  ah  !  every  effort  seems  little, 
As  my  eyes  fall  along  o'er  the  past, 

Yet,  my  Maker  knows  me,  and  my  doing, 
And  what  plans  I  have  builded  to  last ; 

And  the  faith  I  have  had  in  thus  building — 
As  my  sight  far  before  hath  been  cast. 


"THE   END   CROWNS   THE   WORK  "  217 

I  have  had  ample  time  to  make  ready — 
I  have  had  God's  good  Spirit,  and  Word — 

And,  work  at  my  hands  for  performance, 
As  sore  needs  all  my  sorrow  hath  stirred  ; 

But,  with  failure  more  oft  than  successes, 
And  regret  my  wet  eyesight  is  blurred. 

Yet,  God  knows  the  aim  of  my  being — 
And,  God  knows  the  love  of  my  soul — 

And,  where  I  £iave  fastened  my  anchor 
What  time  the  black  billows  do  roll ; 

And  that  day,  when  I  stand  in  his  presence. 
"  The  end  crowns  the  work  "  as  a  whole. 


FINIS. 


M191981 


5 


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